


you wish i was yours and i hope that you're mine

by paladincoolcats



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Bottom Louis, Florist Louis, Fluff, French Louis, M/M, Pining, Romance, Smut, Top Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-06
Updated: 2015-09-06
Packaged: 2018-04-19 07:01:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 31,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4737098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paladincoolcats/pseuds/paladincoolcats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What did you wish for?”</p><p>  Harry blushes, “If I tell you it won’t come true…”</p><p>  Louis sits straight again, a cute little determined look forming on his face, “I wished that a certain curly ‘aired boy would take me on more dates because I ‘ad such a good time on this one. And that’s going to come true, isn’t it?”</p><p>  “Of course,” Harry nearly splutters. “Yeah, yeah definitely.”</p><p>  “See?” Louis grins smugly. “Now I told you mine and it’s still going to come true, so will you tell me yours?”</p><p>  Their wishes were different though, because whereas Louis’ wish was cute and endearing, Harry found his own wish rather embarrassing. But he can’t lie to Louis, nor can he say no to Louis, so he sucks in a shaky breath of air before he speaks softly, “I wished that I was brave enough to kiss you…”</p><p>  or </p><p>  the one where the french boy charms the english boy who is afraid to fall in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you wish i was yours and i hope that you're mine

**Author's Note:**

> HELLO ALL if you have noticed, you may have and you might not have, there are two separate versions of this, and it's because I cowrote this with someone who proceeded to delete the fic and repost it without my name when we fell out of a friendship. I am not plagiarizing, I swear to you, I would never do such a thing. I can only hope that you believe me, I'm a 20 year old english major I don't have time to plagiarize about larry stylinson. I just don't like when people don't give me credit for something I wrote 90% of. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this! you can find the other version here
> 
>  
> 
> [xx](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4384436)
> 
>  
> 
> where they removed Zayn from the fic and changed it to liam instead. But this is the original, even though I know it's posted later, which was actually written in December of 2013 (i think)

Harry is not used to waking up to a Friday morning like this, his window barely open but just enough to hear the singing of the birds outside and the sun peeking through the same piece of glass. It must be something in the air because now he's sitting up, resting on his right arm, breathing in the oxygen, letting it settle in his lungs and it's almost like he's not trying to find something bad about today.

When he's finally climbing from his bed, the cold rush of air makes him want to crawl back under the duvet. There's only one thing that pushes him to dress in the most comfortable clothes so he can exit his bedroom, and it's waiting for him right downstairs. He dresses in worn skinny jeans with a hole in the left knee and an old The Killers t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and then exits his room to find his flat mate, Zayn, eating Wheaties in their living room.

"Morning," Zayn mumbles around a mouthful, making Harry's nose scrunch in disapproval. Zayn's got his feet propped up on the coffee table, his cereal bowl balanced on his leg, and he still has yet to pull a shirt over his tan torso. It was evident Zayn hadn't even glanced at himself, his black hair was a complete disaster rather than the messy look he styled it in.

"How do you plan on being ready by the time the shop is supposed to be open?" Harry sighs.

"Grumpy," Zayn acknowledges, removing his feet and standing to carry his bowl to the sink.

"Irritated,” Harry corrects. Zayn hums and ignores him as he washes his bowl. Harry loves his best friend, but at times, like in the early morning, Harry was unable to cope. So he makes his way to the bathroom to make his hair look somewhat presentable. A fat, fluffy cat is half asleep in the sink, and she yawns as Harry enters. He cracks a small grin at the animal and reaches to scratch her ears, “Hate to bother you Dee, but I need that. Are you going to join us down in the store today?”

She blinks at him for a moment before smacking his hand away and jumps down from the sink. Harry watches her scurry from the bathroom and into Zayn’s room to most likely hide behind the blinds in the window. He takes that as a no, Dee did not wish to join them. So he sets to work fixing his hair, and by the time he thinks he has an acceptable quiff, Zayn is standing outside the bathroom door waiting for him to finish.

"How am I supposed to be ready by the time the shop opens if you take up all the time in the bathroom?” Zayn mocks.

Harry promptly flips him off as he brushes past. He knows Zayn will be on time, however. Zayn is always on time, and Zayn is always organized. He has a way of cleaning up everything to his preference, and Harry hasn’t the slightest clue as to how he does. Harry makes his way out the door of the flat, heading down the narrow steps and into his favorite place; his shop.

For the past three years Harry and Zayn had been running the small little music store in the middle of Yorkshire, one that had slowly been filling with old vinyl records and cassette tapes. Some of Harry’s favorite things. There were new CDs and albums as well, but Harry was in love with the older section they had. Unlocking the door at the bottom of his flat stairs, he slips into the shop. Sunlight streams in through the glass front and catches the dust motes, and Harry breathes in the oaky scent of the wide room. He walks through the aisles, organizing the shelves with careful hands, and glances at the clock in the far corner of the store. Nearly time to unlock the front doors. Zayn trudges his way down the steps and walks behind the counter with two cups of tea, most likely an apology for pushing all of Harry’s buttons. Harry pouts while watching Zayn maneuver his way over.

"How domestic of you, Zayn, nothing else warms my heart like you and a good cup of tea." He crosses his hands and lays them over his chest with a smile on his face.

Zayn rolls his eyes and hands the cup to the taller boy before taking a sip of his own. He purses his lips and checks the clock, realizing now would be a good time to unlock the front door. He sets the cup down beside the record player that lays there and waits for someone to put on a new vinyl for the day, taking out the keys and unlocking the door. Zayn leaves the door open, letting in the breeze from outside and giving a great view of the people passing by.

Harry's back in the aisles, sifting through recent vinyls while Zayn takes a seat on one of the bar stools behind the counter and reads over one of the many Rolling Stones magazines on the rack.

"Alas! I've found it!" Harry beams while holding up a square record casing. He puts his lips to it with an obnoxiously loud kissing noise and pulls away with a smile that lights up his whole face.

Zayn looks over to him and can't help but smile at the younger boy who flashes him the front of the case; it has a white wavelength on a plain black background, and Zayn is far too familiar with that picture.

"How many times have you listened to that? A rough estimate," Zayn asks. Harry stops and stares at the casing and mumbles something to himself.

He turns and looks at Zayn and shrugs.

"Who cares?!" He says, his voice cracking as he skips over to the counter and slides the vinyl very carefully out of its protection and puts it on the record player. His fingers go through the routine that causes the beat to ooze out of the speaker. He sways his hips, waltzing at Zayn with outstretched arms. “Dance with me, Zen.”

Zayn swats him away, shielding his tea from Harry’s far too gangly limbs, “No, you were pissed at me like five minutes ago. Why the hell are you so perky now?”

"Cause there’s this tune I found that makes me think of you somehow, and I play it on repeat,” Harry quotes along with the song as he tries to caress Zayn’s jaw. He earns himself yet another swat.

"Why, Harry?” Zayn sighs. “Why must you do this to me?”

Harry finally stops trying to grope Zayn and instead he crosses his arms, “Because, Zayn, the Arctic Monkeys get me when you don’t.”

You’re melodramatic this morning,” Zayn responds simply, but then he retrieves the small dust rag they keep under the desk and goes to wipe down music shelves.

Harry plants himself on a stool beside the record player, tangling his fingers through the handle of his mug and placing it carefully on his thigh as he watches Zayn. When Zayn finishes he walks past Harry again and tosses the rag back under the desk. He retrieves another from the small compartment all the cleaning supplies are in and offers it out to the younger man, “Would you like to clean the front door? Leave it open though. You always seem to bring in the ladies if they see you outside washing the glass.”

"Too bad I’m gay,” Harry responds. But he takes the rag and bottle of cleaner anyway, it’s their system. Harry brings in customers and Zayn answers any questions they have about what music they have or where certain albums are placed.

"Don’t let them know that though until you’ve reeled them in,” Zayn calls after him, and Harry cracks a smile. It’s a genuine smile, too, Zayn was always one of the only ones who could get such a smile out of the curly haired man.

Harry averts his gaze from all of the people that pass by, he doesn’t like large amounts of people. A few people, mainly teenage girls, blushingly brush past him into the store as he cleans the door to pretend to browse around. Harry knows Zayn can most likely use his ruggedly handsome looks to convince them to buy something. He can only clean glass for so long, however, and soon he’s making his way back into the store and behind the desk to put away the supplies.

Two girls that had entered the store make their way over and place an older record down on the desk, some sort of classical music that Harry is pretty sure he got for twenty-five pence at a market.

“Are you sure he said he liked this one?” he hears one girl whisper to the other, and she nods back in return. Harry meets Zayn’s gaze across the room, arching a brow at the man before Zayn pretends to busy himself. Harry fights a smile as he pulls the record carefully into his grip and checks the small tag on the back of it.

“Four quid,” Harry tells the girls as he taps it into the cash register with nimble fingers, and the one who had been holding the record hands him the money. He places it in the cash register and slides the record carefully to them. “Do you want a bag?”

“Yes please,” the girl responds, and Harry pulls a plastic bag from a drawer in the desk to hand to her.

“Come again,” he tells them, although he would appreciate it if they didn’t, and as they leave Zayn makes his way over. Harry’s laughing at him the second he’s behind the counter. “You are so full of shit.”

“What?” Zayn asks, feigning innocence.

“Your favorite record contains classical music, huh?” Harry shakes his head in amusement.

“I want Bach in my bed,” Zayn sighs dreamily, and Harry has to get up and walk away so his laughter won’t draw attention to him.

He bides his time over by the window instead, sorting through random boxes of cassette tapes that have all been taken out of order. If Zayn found them he’d most likely freak and want to drop everything he was doing just so he could get the tapes in order, so Harry decides it would be best if he went through them himself.

The front door is still open, sending in the fall breeze, he stands there stacking tapes in columns. He wonders if it should be in rows or not, he shakes his head to himself, definitely not in rows. Someone taps on the window in front of him and he doesn't dare bat an eyelash at them because it's probably some punk ass kid being a dick or a desperate girl hoping Harry is 'the one'. Harry's attention is drawn to the door when a petite man walks through with a smile on his face and a book in his hands. The man looks around the store for a brief moment, nodding to himself before he walks over to Harry with an outstretched hand.

"Salut! J'ai vu que votre magasin et moi suis heureux là est d'autres personnes qui parlent français! Je suis Louis et êtes-vous?" He babbles.

Harry looks at him incredulously and shakes his head. The man is speaking French and Harry thinks he might know why he's standing here in the first place.

"Beaucoup de musique," Harry mumbles.

"Oui!" The blue eyed boy says cheerfully but puts his hand down by his side. "Et c'est certainement beaucoup de musique."

Harry shakes his head again, "No, no, you're mistaken. We don't speak French, that's just the name of the shop."

The shorter boy turns to look at Zayn, who's staring at him with a mix of emotions, and he frowns but it quickly changes into a gentle smile.

"Well, that's perfectly alright. I'm Louis, what's your name?"

Harry blinks stupidly. He opens his mouth to speak but nothing comes out.

"His name is Harry," Zayn comes over and introduces Harry for him. He shakes Louis' hand, "and I'm Zayn. We own the place and it was my idea to name the store Beaucoup de musique."

“So you decided on a French title even though neither of you speak French?” Louis chuckles.

Zayn smiles as well, “Well I know a little French. Harry here is the one who only knows like, three words, maybe four.”

Harry is still standing like an idiot with his hands hanging limply at his sides. His mouth is most likely agape a bit but he can’t even bring himself to close it because of the boy in front of him. Harry finds him so, so beautiful, and the only coherent thoughts he can manage involve the higher yet elegant tone of the French boy’s voice and the way the language he spoke had flowed from his tongue. Up until that point he’s been completely unaware that he has a thing for French boys, but he most definitely has a thing for French boys. Particularly the French boy in front of him.

“Louis,” Harry croaks out, simply repeating the boy’s name because he likes it so much.

“Yes?” Louis asks, and Harry is snapped from his stupor. Even speaking English Louis sounds glorious.

“Uh-” he flounders for words for a few moments before he stupidly continues. “Welcome.”

“Thank you…” Louis trails off, pointing a small finger and furrowing his brow in thought. “‘Arry?”

Harry feels like he’s gotten the wind punched out of him, because the smaller boy said his name so perfectly he considers getting the H permanently taken out of it just for Louis. He wants Louis to say it again. He wants to hear it in a much more explicit nature.

“Yeah, he’s Harry,” Zayn answers for him yet again. “We’ll leave him alone for now, he’s being a weirdo.”

Louis giggles, and it’s possibly the sweetest noise Harry has heard emit from someone. Louis does walk off to wander around the store then, and Harry no longer has the ambition to sort through cassette tapes. Instead, he stalks after Zayn, who had retreated back to the counter, so he can seize his shirt.

“Thank you so much for making me look like an imbecile in front of the cute French boy,” he hisses.

“Whoa man,” Zayn holds up his hands in defense, glancing over to Louis who is looking through old vinyls. “You did that all on your own.”

“I’ll kill you,” Harry huffs, but releases Zayn’s shirt.

“At least you didn’t get hard,” Zayn points out. “That could have been really embarrassing.”

Harry runs his hands over his face, leaning over onto the counter to rest his elbows on it. He watches Louis as nonchalantly as he can, blushing furiously as Louis looks up and catches him staring. Louis seems to find amusement by Harry’s flustered state though, and it makes Harry’s heart ache a little to think that the attractive boy most likely gets a lot of attention because of his looks. He figures Louis has people lined up to be with him, and Louis would never want someone like Harry.

“He’s pretty,” Harry mumbles to Zayn sadly.

“Then get the French boy’s number,” Zayn shrugs. “Or give him yours, he didn’t seem too bothered with your obvious infatuation over him.”

“I can’t just get his number,” Harry rolls his eyes.

Zayn purses his lips and shrugs, “I’ll get it for you then.”

Harry uses his height to his advantage then, trapping Zayn against the counter with his entire body. Zayn tries to push Harry off, but Harry is persistent in keeping Zayn away from the French boy browsing through music.

“You’re not giving him my number,” Harry purposely knees Zayn in the crotch so that the older boy will stop his fighting.

“Get off me you fucking yeti,” Zayn laughs.

The two are so busy wrestling against the counter that they don’t notice the petite boy at the counter until he clears his throat, “Zayn, ‘Arry?”

Harry instantly releases Zayn, and Zayn prods at Harry, “Sorry Louis, Harry here was trying to kiss me.”

“No-” Harry shakes his head frantically, and Louis simply laughs as he slides a record onto the counter.

“Poor ‘Arry,” he coos. “He’s giving you a tough morning, oui?”

“Oui,” Harry mumbles.

“ ‘Ow much, for this?” Louis asks, patting the record.

“I think I got it for like a pound, so you can just have it,” Harry tells him, and Louis’ eyes brighten a bit.

“Are you sure?” Louis looks down at the record and then back up to Harry. Harry can’t stop staring at his face, his blue eyes and his high cheek bones. He has the longest eyelashes and the cutest button nose.

“I’m really sure,” Harry nods, and Zayn gives a snort and grabs a sticky note and a pen from a drawer in the counter. While Harry is too busy staring at Louis’ face, Zayn scrawls Harry’s number on the pad of paper and sticks it onto the record before handing it to Louis.

“Just call Harry here sometime and yes, you can have it for free,” Zayn laughs.

Harry gives Zayn a look of disbelief, but Louis is laughing as well, and it’s not a cruel laugh so Harry figures it’s a good sign. The French boy blinks at Harry, and Harry thinks his heart is going to explode from his chest as Louis looks down at the number, “I will. I’ll talk to you soon, ‘Arry, oui?”

“Oui,” Harry croaks. “I mean, you don’t have to but if you did that would be pretty nice, like-”

Zayn seizes Harry’s wrist behind the counter in hopes that he’ll stop rambling. Louis laughs again, wiggling his fingers at the two as he walks towards the door, “Goodbye Zayn, goodbye ‘Arry… talk to you soon. I really like your store.”

“Thanks,” Zayn waves, and Harry can’t do anything but watch as the lovely boy leaves. When he’s completely out of the store, Zayn releases Harry and shakes his head in disappointment. “We really need to work on your people skills.”

Harry mumbles something under his breath and sulks off to sort cassette tapes again. However, his phone buzzes in his back pocket. No one but Zayn, his sister, and his mother ever text him, so he’s confused as he pulls his phone out and looks at the message. It’s from a number he doesn’t recognize, and he opens it.

Bonjour Harry, c'est Louis ;)

And then there’s another sent almost immediately after.

That says ‘Hello Harry, it’s Louis’ in case you were confused.

Harry swallows hard, because the boy actually did it. He actually texted Harry. Harry quickly saves Louis’ number and texts back.

That much I do know, I know like four words remember? Hello is one of them. Thank you though.

He’s so distracted by his phone that he almost spills the cassettes he had organized onto the floor, but he walks over behind the counter without taking his eyes off his phone. It doesn’t take long for Louis to text back.

Je peux vous enseigner plus Harry. (I can teach you more Harry.)

Harry thinks seeing Louis text his name isn’t as good as hearing Louis say “‘Arry”, but he’s happy. He’s really happy. So he smiles and texts the French boy back.

I’d like that.

xx

Louis puts the record Harry had given him in a safe place the moment he gets back to his flower shop, peeling the sticky note from it so he can shoot Harry a text. He still has about twenty minutes before he plans on opening the front door up to let fresh air into the muggy room as well as anyone who wants to browse the plants and flowers. Louis plans on using that time, and probably more time after that, to text the cute English boy from the record shop.

Harry. He was tall and seemed easily flustered and Louis couldn’t help but adore it. He was certainly planning on returning to the record shop just like he had said, as well as trying to get Harry to come visit him as well.

I’d like that.

Harry’s text came in, and Louis felt excitement bubble up in him at the thought of teaching Harry French. Harry’s voice had seemed deep and slow, and Louis wanted nothing more than to hear Harry speak his language. Louis is quick to text Harry back.

I could teach you anywhere you like. I’ve got a shop myself, Belles Fleurs, so we can do it in the evenings.

Louis waits anxiously for a text in return, hopeful that Harry will accept his offer and give Louis a day for them to meet. Yet, the text he gets completely avoids the getting together subject.

I like your shop name.

Louis thinks that Harry is even more awkward through text than he was in person. He finds it endearing. From just the way Harry had acted in the store Louis can almost see how Harry’s brow would furrow in concentration from their texting. He pictures Harry perched on the stool too short for his long legs, his thumb hovering over the send button as he negotiates with himself over if the text says what he wants it to say. He smiles as he texts back.

Thank you. Are you free any time soon?

Louis turns the volume up on his phone as sets it down on top of a book titled Plant Recipes. He looks over the desk and frowns, there's a small tipped over plant pot, a tray with a tablespoon full of soil on it and another pot with a tiny Graptosedum 'Francesco Baldi' in it. Shrugging to himself, he bends down to get the watering can and sprayer out from underneath the desk, planning on hydrating every plant and flower in the shop.

As he wanders around the store, spraying and watering the plants, Louis finally hears his phone buzz and ring. He smiles and skips over to the desk, setting the utilities back down in their place and dusting off his hand on an old towel. When he opens the text he is a little shocked.

Whenever you want to do something, we can do it.

Harry sounds a little too confident this time, and Louis thinks that maybe Zayn took his phone just this once to say what Harry couldn't. He texts him as if he were still talking to Harry anyway. The darker-haired boy had seemed very decent at pushing Harry into things.

I’m just the tutor, I’ll let you decide when we want to meet.

Louis sets back to his watering can and spray bottle duties, keeping his phone tucked in his back pocket this time. He makes his round around the store, watering any plants or flowers that seem droopier than normal. It’s when he finally goes to open up the store that his phone vibrates and rings again.

I’ll let you know then. What’s it like running a flower store?

Louis’ brow furrows in slight frustration. He can already tell that Harry is going to be difficult to coax out. Yet, Louis is determined, and he’ll go back to the record store and make Harry give him a day and time in person if he must. He deems the plants watered enough and goes to sit down in the rolling chair. He spins himself slowly as he texts back the English boy.

Anytime is good, really. The shop smells like flowers and homosexuality.

The boy actually sends the message, smirking to himself as he waits curiously for Harry’s reaction. An older woman enters the store, and Louis smiles to her, “Welcome to Belle Fleurs. Let me know if I can help you find anything.”

She nods and smiles back, wandering off to look at plants, and Louis’ phone buzzes in his hand.

Knock knock.

The text isn’t what Louis was expecting, but he accepts it nonetheless with a deep sigh.

Who's there?

The response is immediate.

To.

Louis has a hand over his forehead in amusement then, because he has no idea where Harry is headed with this. He continues to play along, however. He thinks it’s kind of cute.

To who?

He waits a few moments for the response, wishing he could see how Harry looked sending it.

To whom.

Louis actually laughs aloud, most likely startling the poor woman looking at flowers. He shakes his head fondly as he responds.

I liked that one.

He presses send and stands from the chair, deciding he should do his job a little before continuing to text cute boys. Or just one cute boy, rather. He helps the older woman carry a flower and a pot to the front desk for him to check out, and then he helps her carry it to her car. Once she’s been sent on her merry way, he returns back to his rolling chair to check his phone for Harry’s text.

I've got lots more.

Louis smiles to himself and glances up in the corner of the phone to check the time, finding it only to be 3:34pm, and then he frowns again. He's got so much time, he's already watered all the flowers and plants, there's no customers, and he really doesn't want to sit around the shop staring at the ground, so he decides on picking up the plant recipe book. The book is full of tips on how to make your flowers last longer and pictures of too many plants. And that says a lot because Louis really loves plants and he thinks that is just too many but he looks up around the shop; too many overgrown plants, flowers hanging in front of the windows, maybe too many posters about trees and which leaf belongs to which tree, but he can't help it. Plus he really doesn't care. Louis loves plants.

Throughout the day he continues to text Harry, liking that it gives him something to do other than wander around and water his plants. He fears that if he didn’t have Harry to text he’d end up drowning them. Their texts are silly, really. Almost middle school worthy.

Why couldn’t the flower ride his bike?

Oh, plant jokes. My favorite. Why?

His pedals fell off.

And yet, no matter how many times Louis brought up getting together with Harry, the younger man would always change the topic onto something else. Something incredibly irrelevant like the weather. Louis closes the store after watering one last time and walks the short distance to his flat, but before he goes to bed he shoots Harry one last text.

I’m about to go to sleep, but I’m going to come see you tomorrow at your store.

It takes a while before the next text comes in, and Louis almost falls asleep before he gets it. He figures Harry is probably fidgeting around, deciding on what to text next.

Good night, Louis.x

It wasn’t a yes and it wasn’t a no, but Louis accepts it anyway and tucks his phone under his pillow to sleep. He’ll go to the store tomorrow and make Harry give him an answer straight to face and hopes that maybe Zayn will help a brother out.

×

When his alarm goes off in the morning, Louis reaches under his pillow blindly and takes his phone, shutting off the alarm. His eyes open slowly so he can put his phone on charge and set it on the nightstand next to his bed.

He sits up, resting on his left arm as he looks around with his eyes squinted like he's unfamiliar with his own room. He rubs at his eyes and swings his legs over the bed, his feet hit the cool, wooden floor as he stands and makes his way to the bathroom.

Louis nudges the door with his shoulder and goes to the sink. He looks in the mirror and makes a face,

"Mon dieu," he says, frowning.

Then he makes another one, smiling this time.

"Mon dieu," he says cheerfully as he picks up his black comb and brushes it through his hair gently. His hair flops down to perfect fringe, he sets the comb back down, and he leaves the bathroom only to head into the kitchen and straight to the refrigerator.

He opens the door and bends down to take a look at his almost empty fridge.

"Dieu, où est toute la nourriture?" He mumbles to himself, shutting the door and going over to his stainless steel bread box. He could never afford something like that, but why would he want to spend almost 100 pounds on a bread box when he could just get it for a going away gift. He cuts a slice of bread and puts it in a not so expensive toaster and leans against the counter. It's Sunday, he thinks, so the shop isn't going to be open, but he is definitely going to stop by Harry's store. And Louis could slap himself in the face for almost forgetting Harry.

Harry Harry Harry. Harry is wonderful. Merveilleux. Harry and his records. Louis can't wait to listen to Two Door Cinema Club on the record player he doesn't have. The toast pops up a minute later, barely toasted but just enough for the butter to melt almost as soon as it touches the bread. He starts eating it and finishes it over the sink so the crumbs fall down into the basin and make it easier to wash away.

Louis goes back into the bedroom, he pushes the curtains aside and slides the door open, taking a step out on to the balcony. He sighs happily as he peers over the bars and looks at the people below, which isn't a lot considering it's only 11 in the morning, then he looks across the complex to an orthodontist office, and he momentarily feels bad for the 15 year old girl walking to the building with her guardian. Luckily, for Louis, he never had to get braces mainly because his parents didn't have enough money for them, but eventually his teeth went as straight as they could without the help of wires and brackets. He shakes his head, trying to shoo away the creeping thoughts of his childhood.

Minutes pass and Louis thinks he's done staring at a spot on the ground so he reaches under one of the metal chairs and pulls out a little box, he flicks the hinge open and takes out one of his black Sobranie's and a zippo lighter.

The cigarette hangs in between his lips loosely as he slides his finger over the thumbwheel, making it grind against the flint igniting a flame. The tip of the cigarette sizzles quietly and Louis tucks away the lighter and puts the box back. He sucks in the smoke and lets it settle in his lungs only for a few seconds then blows it past his lips and into the afternoon air.

He watches the smoke float up and disappear, his focus then changes on to the blue sky above. He scans the sky and looks at the clouds carefully, watching how they glide across the atmosphere, morphing into something new. He vaguely wonders what it's like being a cloud, just soaring and doing basically whatever the fuck they want. Even though clouds don't control what they do, and they kinda just go with the flow and maybe Louis isn't cool enough to be a cloud.

This time when he breathes in the smoke, he feels it curling in his lungs, and he holds it. He holds it until it burns and his eyes sting because he feels like he's trying to prove something to the clouds. Like hey I'm laid back enough, let me join your cloud club or something like that. He flicks the ashes over the railing without thinking that it might land on an unfortunate pedestrian and finishes off the rest of the cigarette with ease, tossing it in the small bucket near the sliding door.

He decides then that he’s had enough of his empty flat and his textless phone, so he slips on a pair of Vans and grabs his jacket. As he’s walking out the door, he sends the curly haired record shop owner a text.

I’m coming to visit you.

There isn’t a responding text, but Louis sets out on the fifteen minute walk to the record store. The air is nice, but the sun isn’t out like it was the day before. Louis is just eager to see Harry, and he’s nervous to ask the boy to meet with him sometime. Of course he was going to pass it off as a French lesson, the younger boy would probably panic if Louis did something crazy and asked Harry out on a date. He briefly wonders if he would be able to get another free record from a flustered Harry, but he also decides that he’d feel bad for using his looks against the poor boy. When he reaches the shop, the door is open and he can hear the same record from the day before wafting from inside. He slips inside, breathing in the unique smell of the store.

He can see Harry’s head far on the other side of the room and Zayn is at the front counter where a girl is buying a record and a few cassette tapes. Louis decides he’ll see how long it takes for him to be noticed, and he wanders towards the middle section of vinyls. He pretends that he’s gazing down at the records before him, but in reality he’s peeking up through his eyelashes to look at the gangly boy who is seemingly organizing albums. He looks painfully attractive in his loose white t-shirt and dark jeans that make his legs look wonderful. Harry’s long limbs nearly knock a pile of albums he had been stacking off of the shelf, and he scrambles to save his work from crashing to the floor.

Louis has to clamp a hand over his mouth to keep from giggling. Harry is still clumsy even if he isn’t flustered.

“Hiya, Louis,” a voice says from right in front of him.

He jolts in alarm, but he finds that it’s only Zayn. The dark haired boy his smiling at him from the other side of the shelf, and Louis smiles back, “Zayn, ‘ello.”

“So are you examining our records or examining my flatmate?” Zayn chuckles.

“Your flatmate,” Louis nods, not even bothering to try and hide it. “ ‘E is very cute.”

“Well he likes you too,” Zayn tells him. “Was going on and on about you yesterday. He kept coming to me every five minutes and asking how he should respond to you. I wouldn’t tell him of course, you’re supposed to get with him, not me. You’ll need to know his brain. I’m so sorry for that.”

Louis laughed, looking back over to Harry, “Should I go talk to 'im?”

“I’ll call him over,” Zayn replied, and then he was bellowing out loudly. “Hey, Harry!”

Zayn’s voice boomed through the empty shop, and several albums tumbled from Harry’s startled hands and scattered across the floor. Harry turned with a glare, but when his eyes met Louis’, the curly haired lad scooped up the albums and sped walk towards a door along the back wall. He opened it with difficulty, pausing for a moment to call out, “I’m going to go… I need to put… I’ll just be right back.”

He disappeared up the steps then, and Louis sighed, “Well. I guess I should have expected that.”

“Just keep texting him,” Zayn insisted. “He needs to adjust, but then I’m sure he’ll be much more willing to talk. It’s not even you, he’s just worried about embarrassing himself.”

" 'E is good at embarrassing 'imself," Louis jokes.

Zayn nods and smiles because yeah, for ten years Harry has been good at embarrassing himself. They became friends in grade six when someone stuck their foot out on the bus and, of course, Harry tripped over it and nearly collapsed on a dark haired boy sitting in the next seat. Zayn would find out the clumsy boy has a name, and they have a lot in common with each other.

“I’m glad you came here though, it’ll prove to him that you actually do want to see him, and not because we gave you a free record,” Zayn explains.

“Oh,” Louis acts surprised. “Do I not get a free record everytime I come? I’ll just go ahead and leave then.”

Zayn chuckles, “Get my friend out of the flat and shop, and you can have all the free records you want.”

Louis shakes his head though, “No, no… I won’t take your records. I would like to take ‘Arry out, though. I told ‘im I would teach ‘im French.”

“Good plan,” Zayn nods. “Trick him into thinking you’re going to just be giving him French lessons. He’s terrified of relationships and yet I think it’s one thing he wants the most.”

Louis hums, his eyes flitting to the door that Harry had departed from, “ ‘E isn’t coming down again, is ‘e?”

“I think he’ll be up there awhile,” Zayn sighs. “I’m sure he’s ranting to the cat about how cute he thinks you are.”

Louis blushes, and he reaches for his pocket to pull out his cellphone, “Well… I don’t ‘ave anywhere to be. Could I stay until ‘e comes down?”

Zayn smiles widely and nods, “Sure, mate. I’ll even let you come behind the counter. Do you want some tea or something?”

“Do you have any perrier?” Louis asks, leaving the row of vinyls he’s in and following Zayn behind the counter. Zayn’s brow furrows as he looks to Louis, shaking his head.

“Nah… we aren’t the perrier type,” he laughs then, his nose scrunching. “Sorry, cutie. I can get you plain water?”

Louis chuckles, “Tea is fine, thanks.”

Zayn grabs an empty mug off of a platter sitting on the counter. The mug is an off white, and it’s covered with an assortment of little grey tabby cats playing with yarn balls. It reminds Louis of a mug his grandmother would use. Zayn grabs the kettle that had accompanied it and pours some tea into cup, offering it to Louis, and he laughs as Louis’ eyebrows shoot up, “It’s Harry’s mug. He’s a cat person. But he hasn’t used it today, so you can.”

Louis’ eyebrows raise at the thought of using Harry’s mug, but he accepts it nonetheless. His eyes flicker around the store, and they fall onto the record player that is still playing the album from the previous day, “So… this was playing yesterday? Who is it?”

Zayn splutters on his own tea, “Don’t let Harry hear you say that. He worships this album. It’s what we listen to ninety-five percent of the time.”

“I like it,” Louis says quickly. “I just ‘ave no clue who it is.”

“The Arctic Monkeys,” Zayn tells him, offering Harry’s stool to Louis. It’s tall to accommodate Harry’s height, and Louis has to set his tea down and use both hands to climb onto it. “One of Harry’s favorite bands. Harry also likes our cat Dee, fall weather, and apparently French boys. Just letting you know.”

“I feel like I could learn a lot from you, Zayn,” Louis smiles, craning his arm out for his tea once more.

At that moment the door at the back of the room squeaks open a bit, and Harry pokes his head through it, “Is the coast clear, Zayn? That French boy is going to be the death of me I swear-”

“Hi, ‘Arry,” Louis covers his mouth to hide a smile, and the door swings the rest of the way open to reveal Harry clutching a fat and fluffy cat. He looks flustered, like always, and his mouth is open a bit like the first time Louis spoke to him.

“Well shit, I-” Harry stammers. “That probably sounded awful I didn’t mean it like…”

Zayn speaks up to stop Harry’s rambling. Louis figures Zayn comes to Harry’s rescue a lot in these cases, “Come visit with me and Louis.”

Harry slowly walks over to the door with the cat still in his hands, shutting it so he can put the cat down and walk over to Zayn and Louis. He stands awkwardly in front of the counter, and Louis smiles at him. Harry opens his mouth and closes it a few times before he manages to speak, “That’s uh. That’s my mug.”

“Do you want it? I like the cat theme,” Louis offers the mug out, and Harry reaches out to take it from him. His large hands completely dwarf Louis’, and Zayn huffs in protest.

“He’s using it, Harold, where are your manners?” Zayn scolds, and Harry blushes as he instantly offers the mug back out to Louis.

“I’ll get another from upstairs-”

“Freeze, Styles,” Zayn commands. “I’ll get another mug from upstairs, you sit here and talk. Be social. Or else I’ll date the French boy.”

Louis winks at Zayn, and Zayn playfully kisses the top of his head as he walks by. Zayn doesn’t seem like the shy type, and he also seems like the kind of guy who likes to give his best friend shit. Louis knows that Zayn has succeeded in irritating Harry by the glower that Harry gives Zayn’s back as he heads out from behind the counter and up the steps.

“ ‘E is very nice,” Louis says conversationally.

Harry sighs and hesitantly slips behind the counter. He steals a sip of tea out of Zayn’s mug and sits on Zayn’s stool. The boy is looking everywhere but at Louis, and Louis is about to speak again when Harry finally speaks, “Did you like your record?”

“I don’t ‘ave a record player,” Louis chuckles.

“What, really?” Harry looks surprised. “Oh… did you come back to see if we have one? Because we don’t currently I don’t think, I’m sorry, just-”

“No,” Louis leans to put his tea on the counter again. “I came to see you, ‘Arry. Like I said I would in the text.”

“I didn’t actually think you’d come back,” Harry mumbles, but then holds up his hands. “I’m not complaining though!”

Louis giggles, “You’re free to visit my store, too. I could give you a free plant to put in here.”

Harry goes shy again at the offer, shrugging sheepishly, “Maybe… you don’t have to give me anything.”

“You gave me a free record,” Louis insists. “It’s only fair.”

Harry looks even further flustered, and he tugs at the collar of his t-shirt a bit, “What’s taking Zayn so long with that mug?”

Before Louis can answer, the large fluffy cat jumps onto the counter and pads over to sniff Louis’ mug. Louis smiles reaching out to pet her, “She likes tea, oui?”

“Yes, but not strangers usually so be careful- she’s declawed but still she bites sometimes,” Harry seems prepared to go to Louis’ aid if needed. The cat doesn’t seem to mind though, and she rubs her head against Louis’ hand as she purrs loudly.

“Joli minou,” Louis coos.

“She must like French boys, too, Harry,” Zayn suddenly walks up to the counter and hands Harry his mug. “Looks like you’ve got some competition. Dee doesn’t usually take well to strangers, so you must be something special Louis.”

Louis chuckles and scratches the cat behind her ear, “You’re a sweetie, Dee.”

“She’s not though,” Harry pouts a little. “You should see the puncture wound her tooth left in my thumb.”

“Elle est juste mal compris,” Louis hums, and then realizes he’s getting confused looks. “She’s just misunderstood. Sorry, I don’t realize I’m doing it sometimes.”

“It’s alright…” Harry murmurs. “I like hearing you speak French.”

“Let me teach you,” Louis immediately jumps on the opportunity. “You said you’d let me teach you in the text, but you never gave me a day. So… ‘ow does tomorrow sound? You can come to my flat for dinner and I’ll give you your first French lesson.”

“Sounds like a date, right Harry?” Zayn nods. “You should go.”

“Date?” Harry says nervously.

“Not a date,” Louis shakes his head. “French lesson and friendly dinner.”

“If Harry says no can I come?” Zayn asks hopefully, but Harry shakes his head.

“No Zayn, I’m going,” he huffs, and then he blushes as he looks to Louis. “I’ll need a time and an address though…”

Louis feels a rush of excitement, and he gives Zayn a grateful look for using jealousy to push Harry along, “You can come over around 7:30pm, I close my store at 7:00pm. I’ll text you the address.”

“Alright,” Harry gives a small smile. “Sounds good.”

“Good,” Louis smiles back, and Zayn pats Harry’s shoulder.

“Okay, um…” Harry points to the albums. “I need to finish organizing those.”

“Don’t be a party pooper Harry,” Zayn groans. “The store is dead right not, the albums can wait. And you know they can wait if I say they can wait.”

“No it’s okay,” Louis replies, wiggling off the tall stool with difficulty. “Thank you for the tea, but I should go pick up my flat so that it’s decent for you.”

Harry nods, “Okay… you can stay if you want though?”

“I won’t bother you,” Louis reaches to give Dee, who was still laying next to his mug, one last pat. “I’ll see you tomorrow, ‘Arry? And Zayn. I might even come by again before my shop opens if you don’t mind.”

“You’re welcome anytime here, Lou,” Zayn grins, opening his arms up like he wants to hug Louis from across the counter. Harry puts his arm out though to stop him, and Louis hides his smile as he pretends to adjust his clothing.

“Thank you,” he says, heading towards the door. “See you around.”

Harry and Zayn both call out farewells, and Louis heads back down the pavement to his flat. He feels all bubbly from talking to Harry, and he feels even more bubbly when he thinks about how the cute record store boy will be coming over to his house. He's got a giant smile on his face and he may or may not skip a little on his way back to his flat. And he may or may not be completely smitten over Harry.

xx

"Zayn, please don't make me go."

This is definitely the sixth time Zayn has heard this today. Harry woke up a little earlier than he usually does, waking Zayn up with little nudges to the shoulder and hushed whispers of 'wake the fuck up' against his neck that made his skin prickle and his cheeks burn. But now Zayn stands at the foot of the bed, staring at Harry with his head tilted to the side. Zayn thinks he should say something to Harry about how he looks like a frog right now, with his eyes wide and his mouth pulled up at the ends, but he keeps to himself. Zayn holds up a short sleeve black button up shirt and squints, lining up the shirt with Harry's tattooless chest.

"Shut up," Zayn mumbles and switches the black shirt to a grey CARVEN sweater. The tip of his tongue pokes out past his lips and he furrows his brows in concentration.

Harry wraps his arms around himself in an attempt to cover his chest, he switches from foot to foot waiting for Zayn to make a decision already, he sort of feels like a little kid waiting for his mother to pick out his clothes for the first day of school, even though he's old enough to make his own decisions. But he can't bring himself to decide if he wants to stay at his flat for the rest of his life or if he wants to go to Louis' and potentially have a good time.

"I’m not feeling good, maybe I should text him and-"

“Harry I was serious when I said that I would go instead of you,” Zayn huffs, tossing the clothes in Harry’s direction. “Put those on so I can see how they look and we’ll go from there.”

The curly haired lad barely catches the clothing, and he glares at the older man, “I’m going to end up embarrassing myself and then Louis is never going to want to speak to me again. I don’t even know how to speak to him in the first place.”

“You talk to me just fine,” Zayn points out. “And besides. He thinks it’s cute when you embarrass yourself.”

Harry splutters, “What do you mean he thinks it’s cute?”

“Like when you spilled the albums all over the floor yesterday,” Zayn smirks.

Harry moans and covers his face with the sweater, “Shit, he actually saw me do that.”

Zayn simply laughs and plops down on the bed, “This is like, the only time I’ll be letting you wear my clothes, so go on, Styles. Strip for me."

“Sometimes you make me wildly uncomfortable,” Harry grumbles, but he moves to slip his arms through the shirt, which is oddly difficult. When he finishes buttoning the shirt up and adjusts the collar he looks back at his friend with hopeful eyes.

"Well?" He prompts.

Zayn looks him up and down, "I hate it," he says honestly. "Change."

Harry rolls his eyes because there is no such thing as too much black, he undoes the shirt and tosses it back to Zayn. He picks up the sweater and struggles sliding it over his long torso while Zayn puts all of his focus on fixing the shirt and making sure it's neatly folded. He glances back up at Harry and comes to the conclusion that he looks fucking great in expensive clothes.

“Is it too big do you think?” Harry sighs, pulling carefully at the end of the sweater in attempts to make it fall more naturally.

“It’s great,” Zayn decides. “That’s the one you’re wearing.”

“What pants?” Harry asks.

Zayn’s mouth mashes into a firm line of unamusement, “Harry, who is Louis actually having over for dinner, you or me?”

“Me,” Harry pouts, plopping down on the bed next to Zayn. “But I don’t know what to wear and you’re usually good at this stuff so I just thought-”

“Yeah, yeah,” Zayn waves him off, standing with a shake of his head to return back to his closet. “I’ll find you some pants.”

Dee makes her way into the room, rolling around at Harry’s feet for a bit. He chooses to ignore her because she had tried to steal Louis from him. He thinks that cat would probably be a better candidate for Louis anyway, but he isn’t going to let her know that. She jumps onto the bed with him and flops down on the black shirt Zayn had neatly folded. Her white fur contrasts against the black cloth very nicely, but Harry knows Zayn won't like cat hair all over his expensive clothes, and he tries to shoo her off before he sees. Yet, it’s too late, because her long fur is always shedding, and the black shirt badly needs a lint roller even after just a few seconds.

“Dee likes the black one best,” Harry announces.

“Dee has shit taste,” Zayn tosses a black pair of skinnies, worn at the knees, to Harry. “How about those?”

Zayn picks up the cat and gives her the attention she was craving while Harry shucks grumpily out of his pants. He stands to tug the jeans on, buttoning and zipping them before feeling around at his hips, “Are these too loose on my ass?”

“You don’t have an ass,” Zayn replies. “But no, they look fine.”

"My ass will look saggy.”

Zayn snorts, “Go in boxers.”

“I have to be there in two hours,” Harry mumbles, running his hands over his face as he ignores his best friend. “He’s going to spend like five minutes alone with me and then he’s going to kick me out.”

“Nah,” Zayn shrugs. “He’ll probably at least suck your dick before he kicks you out.”

“Zayn!” Harry exclaims, blushing furiously. “There will not be any dick sucking. It’s not even a date, you heard him. It’s dinner and a French lesson.”

“Maybe he’ll speak French around your-”

Harry thrust up a hand, “No. Stop. His mouth is not coming anywhere near my crotch.”

“Just go fix your hair, pretty boy,” Zayn snickers, and Harry flips him off as he leaves Zayn standing alone with the cat.

He retreats into the bathroom and glances at his hair in the mirror. It’s not awful, though it could use some taming, but it’s definitely not something that could kill two hours. So instead, Harry brushes his teeth, fixes his hair, and paces around the living room and kitchen for the rest of the time. He can feel Zayn watching him from the couch, and he glares over to find that Zayn has Dee draped over his lap and his eyebrows are raised.

It’s nearly time for him to head out, so he heads over by the door and grabs his jacket. He checks his phone to find several texts from Louis that he had neglected to see.

I’m cleaning for you, you should feel special.

Do we want pizza or chinese tonight?

Ready when you are, Harold.

Harry’s nose scrunches as he feels a pang of guilt for basically ignoring the lad, and he quickly texts back.

Sorry, I was getting ready. Anything is good. I’m on my way, if that’s alright?

Zayn slides Dee off of his lap, standing and stretching before making his way over to Harry, “Alright, so what time do you presume you’ll be getting back?”

“No clue,” Harry responds, slipping his jacket on. Zayn huffs at him, stepping forward to straighten the collar out as he mumbles something under his breath about Harry being impossible.

“Well just… call me when you leave Louis’,” he says firmly, pointing a finger in Harry’s face. “Don’t talk to strangers, don’t dawdle around, it’s going to be dark so you come straight home.”

“Yes mother,” Harry rolls his eyes.

“Just looking out for you,” Zayn explains, patting Harry’s shoulder once. “You’re like, my favourite best friend.”

“I’m your only best friend,” Harry mumbles, but he smiles. His phone buzzes in his hand and he glances down at it.

That sounds great! I’ll see you when you get here.

“And you’ve got his address?”

Harry groans, because occasionally Zayn really is like his mother. He figures it’s why his mother was okay with him moving out of the house to live with Zayn, “Yes, yes, he texted it to me earlier. It’s not even that far. Just a few blocks away, probably like fifteen minutes tops.”

His friend nods and twists the knob and pushes the door open for Harry, "Be safe and please have fun."

Harry takes a slow step backwards out into the hallway while looking at Zayn, nodding. Zayn smiles at him and closes the door slowly, and Harry turns to walk straight down the stairs. He stops in the middle of the stairs and thinks if he could just sit there for a few hours and play it off as if he and Louis had a great time. All the scenarios that could happen if Harry chooses to stay spin through his head as he starts walking again with a frown on his face. He maneuvers through the shop and out of the front door, locking it behind him and beginning his journey to Louis' flat.

The fall breeze hits his cheeks he automatically curls in slightly, stuffs his hands in his pockets in an effort to try and warm any part of him, and he trudges to Louis' place. He take little glances up at the roads signs for direction and looks at the people scurrying all over the sidewalk. He wonders what those people think of him, do they see him as just another stranger how he sees them or do they think he's going to go somewhere, do they think in depth like he does. Anyone he sees could be struggling with money or with something personal, they could be in love, be heartbroken, or they could have just found out that a loved one has passed and this is all too much for Harry to think about. He always gets himself in too deep so quickly he scares himself.

Harry sighs loudly, almost a groan, and scrubs his hands over his face when a flickering light catches his eye from his right. He blinks a few times before he can see the sign clearly.

"Flowers," He mumbles to himself and that's a sign he must be close to Louis' so he continues to walk down the concrete and enjoying the crunch of leaves under his feet. He’s always loved autumn, even if it means that the days are getting shorter and colder.

When he finally arrived at the address Louis had given him, he stood outside for a good five minutes trying to figure out if he had the right building. He was terrified he’d walk up to the flat and someone who was not Louis would answer. So he nervously pulled out his phone, wondering if he should actually let Louis know that he had arrived. He was still strongly in debate about going and sitting somewhere for a few hours. However, he’d feel awful for standing Louis up for their totally friendly dinner and French lesson, so he sends Louis a text.

I think I’m at your house but I’m not completely sure.

Almost immediately a top story window opens and Louis pokes his head out, waving to Harry. Harry waves back sheepishly and stuffs his phone back into his jacket pocket and climbs the flat steps. There seems to be some sort of buzzer on it and a carded entry, but Louis is suddenly opening the door for him and letting him in.

“ 'Arry! 'Ello, sorry I forgot to tell you that you either needed buzzed in or you needed a card,” he chortled, beckoning Harry to follow him. The small entryway they’re in has a staircase in the far side leading up, and a door that Harry figures is a flat. “I figured I’d come down and lead you up for this first time, but otherwise I’ll probably just buzz you in and let you come up.”

Harry hums so that Louis knows he’s listening. The building seems nice so far, with wooden steps that are cleanly swept. Louis leads him up past a floor with another single door, and when they reach the top there isn’t another stretch of flooring. Instead they reach a door, and Louis opens it up and swings a hand out for Harry to enter first. Harry cautiously climbs the final step up through the door, and he finds himself in a living room.

It’s very home-y seeming, and Harry is a tad surprised by the amount of plants, but he remembers that Louis owns a flower shop. There’s two chairs and a coffee table in the center of the room, and couch is back against the far wall. He can see an archway leading into the kitchen, and a hall to a bathroom and most likely Louis’ bedroom. He purses his lips, and it’s then he realizes he should probably say something instead of looking around like some sort of creep.

“It’s nice,” Harry says softly. “Very comfortable.”

“Thank you, ‘Arry,” Louis smiles a smile that makes Harry’s knees weak. And his damn accent, it gets to Harry every time. “I ‘ope you don’t mind, I went ahead and got take-out Chinese. I love the stuff.”

“Chinese is good,” Harry says quickly.

“The guy will probably buzz up eventually, so don’t be alarmed if I suddenly dash out to go get it,” Louis hums, but he holds his hand out for Harry to sit down in one of the two armchairs. “Feel free to make yourself at home, I’ll ‘ang up your jacket.”

Harry looks at the two chairs for a moment, wondering if Louis has one special chair he always sits in or if it's a mix of chair swapping for him. He nods to himself and hands over the jacket before he moves to the right, sitting on the black one, it's squishy and cozy, so he rests his hands on the rounded part of the chair and squeezes gently.

"This is nice," Harry compliments and it could be about anything, really. When he looks up, Louis has hung his jacket up on the coatrack by the door and is staring at him with his arms crossed. He has a little smile on his face and Harry is just a little worried. "What is it?"

Louis smiles wider and shakes his head, "Nothing is wrong, 'Arry. I'm just looking."

Harry gulps slowly but nods and chooses not to squirm around under Louis' gaze. He watches Louis as he makes his way over to the chair across himself, Louis sighs happily and blinks at Harry.

"Do you want something to drink? I've got tea, water and yeah, that's basically it," Louis counts to two on his fingers, and he shrugs like he's kind of disappointed for not having more to offer but he doesn't know that his presence is enough.

Harry shakes his head, "No I'm fine, thank you, though."

The shorter boy nods and crosses his legs while tapping his fingers against the plaid material of the chair. Louis suddenly smiles again, teeth and all, and he looks so good.

"You look great."

Harry furrows his eyebrows like he can't believe he just said and maybe it's because he can't believe he just said that.

"Beau parleur," Louis' lips stretch, smiling wider. He notices Harry's troubled expression and bites the inside of his cheek. "You're a sweet talker, 'Arry."

Harry's face glows pink, his eyes move from Louis to the fireplace, fireplace to the coffee table, the table to the kitchen, and he can't help but look back at Louis.

"I'm really sorry, I didn't mean that."

Louis frowns, "Non?"

Harry grabs at his bottom lip, pulling it slightly between his thumb and forefinger. A buzz rings through the air and two knocks on the flat door that go unnoticed by Harry.

"No, no, you do look great! You always look-"

He cuts himself off and listens to the way Louis' silvery laugh floats through the air, and he just stares at him for a little while. Louis stops laughing after a few seconds and then his bottom lip juts out a bit before he stands up and walks over to Harry. He rests his hand on top of Harry's, leans down and places a gentle kiss to his curly quiff.

"Je reviendrai," he mumbles and stands straight, walking back out the door they had come in. Harry's chest feels slightly warm when he watches him go. He doesn’t at all feel like eating, he’s experiencing far too many emotions to feel hungry. Not only is he terrified, but he is so incredibly entranced by the feathery haired boy.

When Louis comes back up the steps, he’s carrying bags of their take-out. And Harry thanks Christ, the lad even has fantastic arms. Louis smiles at Harry, and Harry realizes that he’s staring again. He opens and closes his mouth a few times, struggling to recover from his momentary awkwardness, “Do you want money or something since-”

“No,” Louis giggles. “You gave me a record, and plus you’re my guest. I’ve got the food this time, you can get it next time.”

“Next time?” Harry squeaks.

“Oui?” Louis pouts, sitting the bag down on the coffee table between them. He sits across from Harry, clasping his hands together. “I cannot teach you an entire language in one night. If it’s alright, and if you like my teaching… you should come back every other day or so. For a lesson.”

Harry panics, because this is usually when Zayn would step in and say what he couldn’t. He figured that the more time he could spend with Louis, the better. And yet, he couldn’t swallow past the massive lump in his throat. Instead he sat blinking in shock at Louis while the boy waited patiently.

“Every other?” Harry managed to force out.

“Day,” Louis supplies. “Oui?”

After another internal battle with his socially awkward side, Harry manages a hoarse, “Oui.”

The smile he receives in turn makes Harry so completely glad he managed to say yes. He decides then that he’d say anything, do anything, and be anything to put that smile on Louis’ face again. Louis reaches forward and pulls out the containers of chinese, separating them between Harry and himself, “Ce doit être un plaisir!”

“What’s that mean?” Harry asks curiously.

“I said ‘This should be fun’,” Louis smiles, but then his nose scrunches and he stands up quickly. “Forks. Also I know I asked earlier, but just making sure. You don’t want a drink, no water or tea?”

Harry decides then that he’ll get water in case he ends up choking on food and embarrassing himself, “Water, but I’ll come help-”

He tries to stand, but his long legs knock against the table. He’s just glad that the table is sturdy and his knees take most of the abuse. Scrambling up, he stumbles away from the table and chair, heat flooding his cheeks. The entire time Louis has been reaching out as if to assist Harry, his mouth agape. When Harry has managed to right himself, hunching over slightly so he can clutch his sorest knee, Louis asks in concern, “Are you alright?”

Harry tries to wave him off, hobbling for the kitchen, “Yes, yes I’m okay. Um. Water and forks.”

“And an ice pack,” Louis murmurs, scurrying ahead of Harry into the kitchen. The taller boy limps after him, but Louis pushes an ice pack that he’s pulled from the freezer at him. His brow is furrowed adorably, and Harry feels like he’s melting again. “Allez vous asseoir, allez vous asseoir!”

Now Louis seems like the flustered one, and it's kind of cute. Harry wonders if Louis always speaks French when he’s flustered, “I’m not sure what that means…”

“I said,” Louis points back to the living room. “Go sit down… please.”

Harry does as he’s told, because he’s far too shy to say no. He knows that if it were Zayn he’d try to make Zayn carry him back, but this is Louis, and Louis is so small that Harry fears he would break if Harry asked to be carried. Louis comes back with forks and their waters, and he sits his in front of Harry.

“How do I say thank you?” Harry asks. “In French I mean.”

“Merci,” Louis replies. “ ‘Owever, if I was a stranger you could use the more formal ‘Je vous remercie’.”

“Shay voo ruh-mercy?” Harry tries, but it sounds stale and isn’t anywhere near Louis’ level of elegance.

Louis’ nose scrunches, but he reaches to pat Harry’s hand, “We’ll work on that.”

Harry laughs, and it’s a genuine laugh, because he knows just how awful his pronunciation was and yet Louis is still being gentle about it, “I think you’re going to make a very good teacher.”

“Let’s ‘ope,” Louis chuckles, pointing to the chinese. “Now let’s eat before it gets froid. That means cold.”

“Froid,” Harry nods, opening up his container and taking a bite of rice.

Louis’ face lights up, “That was good!”

Harry blushes under the praise, swallowing his food before he allows himself to speak again, “Merci.”

Louis’ laughter rings out, and Harry loves that sound so much. He wants to record it and listen to it on repeat. It makes him so flustered he nearly knocks over his water glass as he reaches for it in attempts to drink and cool off the burn growing in his cheeks.

“With our plans of bringing you back ‘ere every other day you’ll be speaking français in no time,” Louis tells the curly haired boy.

“How do you say Harry?” Harry nonchalantly looks down at his food again. He knows very well that his name doesn’t change if the language changes, but he wants to hear Louis say it. It earns him an arched brow and a snort.

“ ‘Arry..."

Harry grins, “Yeah… I just wanted to hear you say it.”

“You are sly,” Louis shakes a finger at him, but he’s smiling too. “What’s so good about it?”

“ ‘Arry,” Harry responds. “It sounds much better like that, I don’t really know how to explain it.”

“I am just saying your name!” Louis insists, and Harry grins. He puts down his food, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees until he nearly knocks off his ice pack and has to shift positions.

“You say it like… my name has no H,” he’s waving his free arm that can’t rest on his leg about, and Louis’ brow furrows adorably.

“ ‘Arry… ‘Arry,” Louis repeats, as if he’s trying to say it until it sounds right.

“No, no, you say it just fine,” Harry soothes, and then he silently curses himself for letting the wall in his brain momentarily come down. He says the stupidest and most unnecessary things at times if he allows himself to.

“Herri,” Louis finally manages, and he gets the ‘H’ sound but the rest of Harry’s name no longer has the nice sound Louis’ accent puts on it. Rather Louis sounds like some sort of southern American. “Like that?”

“I like ‘Arry,” without thinking, Harry reaches out and touches the hand that Louis has resting mid-grab on his water cup. “Really, I do. That’s why I wanted you to say it. I can’t say it like you, though.”

Louis blushes then, and Harry wants to cry because he wants Louis but this is their very first totally friendly dinner and French lesson. Not a date. And yet, Harry is having one of the best times of his life with this lovely lad. They sit across from each other and eat chinese for nearly an hour, and then when the chinese is gone they still talk for another hour and a half.

“What is joke in French?” Harry asks, now leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. He’d long since put down the ice pack, his bruised knee forgotten due to Louis’ company.

“Blague,” Louis tells him, and Harry laughs loudly before clamping a hand over his mouth to muffle the resonating sound.

“That sounds like a disease.”

Louis giggles, “Maybe to an Englishman like you, ‘Arold.”

Harry sighs a happy sigh, but he pulls his phone out of his pocket and groans, “It’s nearly midnight… and I need to walk back before Zayn starts to worry.”

“That’s quite alright,” Louis stands up and stretches. “We both ‘ave to work tomorrow. I’ll come visit you at your shop, oui?”

“Oui,” Harry says instantly, maybe a bit too quickly. Louis grins largely though and Harry doesn’t regret a thing. It’s a rarity for him to feel happy outside of the flat, the shop, and Zayn, and there’s a nagging in Harry’s mind that says he shouldn’t cling to it in case it leaves him but he doesn’t care. It’s far too soon to worry anyway.

“And you’ll be back again the day after tomorrow, anyway,” Louis reminds. “Another French lesson. Your turn to buy the food.”

“Oui,” Harry hums. “Do you want help um… cleaning up?”

“I ‘ave got it,” Louis waves his hands for Harry to leave the stuff on the table alone. “Mainly trash and two cups to wash, it’s fine. I’ll walk you downstairs though.”

Harry grabs his jacket and the two walk downstairs, with Harry accidentally getting his jacket sleeve stuck on the rail and nearly toppling down the stairs. They both laugh after Louis makes sure Harry hasn’t injured himself for a second time that night. When they’re standing at the bottom of the stairs, just inside the door out of the cold autumn air, Harry smiles shyly.

“I had a lot of fun, Louis, I didn’t know dinner and a French lesson could be so enjoyable,” he picks at a loose thread on the jumper, too bashful to meet Louis’ gaze.

“I had fun, too,” Louis insists with a slight giggle. Harry looks up and finds that Louis’ blushing, and it makes his own cheeks redden. “See you tomorrow, ‘Arry?”

“Yeah,” Harry nods quickly. “Yeah tomorrow, definitely.”

Louis steps forward then, placing his hands on Harry’s shoulders and pressing a gentle kiss to Harry’s cheek. He’s so small he has to stand on his tip toes and Harry thinks his heart is going to bust right out of his chest. His mouth falls open a tad, and when Louis pulls back and sees Harry’s stunned face, he rolls his eyes, “It’s a French thing.”

The smaller lad opens the door up for Harry then, and Harry numbly stumbles outside, “I… later…”

“We can text, too, you know,” Louis points out. “Text me when you get back to your flat, okay?”

Harry nods, and he’s glad Louis mentioned that because he has to text Zayn also. He does it as he’s walking, but he figures that he probably fuck up the text somehow because Louis is all he can think about. Louis’ laugh, Louis’ hair, the way Louis’ lips felt on his cheek. It was a French thing, apparently, and Harry loved it.

As he reaches his flat, his cheeks are numb from the wind but he can’t even be bothered as he digs out his keys and unlocks the shop door. He locks it behind him, and then he’s bolting through the dark store and to the door to the steps. Stumbling into the flat, he finds that Zayn is sleepily sitting on their couch, idly stirring a cup of tea he has in one hand.

“Oh,” Harry pants. “You didn’t have to wait up.”

Zayn rolls his eyes, “Of course I did, who would come to your helpless rescue if you got mugged.”

Harry sends Louis a quick text, ignoring his friend.

I’m home. See you tomorrow in the shop?

“Hey,” the dark haired boy huffs. “Did you hear me?”

“Hmm?” Harry looks up distractedly.

“I asked if you had a nice time,” Zayn stands, walking over and making Harry take off his jacket. “Are you just going to stand there and overheat in that thing or are you going to tell me how your night was before I pass out. It’s pretty late, did you get lucky?”

“No!” Harry smacks at Zayn’s torso, and the older man laughs. Harry’s phone buzzes though, and his attention is immediately drawn elsewhere.

That’s good, merci. Oui. Beaucoup de Musique! Goodnight, Harry. Or how you tell me I say it…. Arry.

You do say it like that. I like it though. Good night, Louis.x

“Harry Edward Styles,” Zayn demands. “Are you texting him right now?”

Harry dramatically clutches onto Zayn’s arm, being the little shit he always is with his best friend, “Zayn. Zaynie. I had the best time. We did each other’s hair and painted each other’s nails, and-”

“I’ll go to bed then,” Zayn rolls his eyes, tugging away from Harry and hanging up Harry’s jacket.

Harry decides to stop messing around, because he does want Zayn’s opinion. His night was fantastic, and it was Zayn who had pushed him into going, “Okay, okay. It was really nice, though. He ordered chinese and we just sat in his living room and talked. I learned a few French words, like… thank you, cold, the word for joke.”

“You would ask what joke was, please tell me you didn’t tell him any,” Zayn groaned. “He’ll be heading for the hills.”

Harry frowned, “There’s nothing wrong with my jokes… and I don’t think he’s heading for the hills. I hope not. He… he asked me to come over every other evening for lessons and dinner, that’s good right?”

Almost instantly Harry’s face is between Zayn’s hands, and they’re nearly nose to nose, “Are you serious? He asked you to come over every other night?”

“Is that bad?” Harry squeaked.

“Hell, no,” Zayn laughs, releasing him to slap him on the shoulder. “Harry that’s actually really great! How did you trick him into thinking you were a cool person?”

Harry glares at him, “He’s coming to visit the shop again tomorrow, too. And I’m not cool but I’m not uncool…”

“I know, I know,” Zayn slings his arm around Harry, pulling him into a half hug. “I’m just giving you shit, my little hipster. I think you’re pretty awesome. You potentially have yourself a French boy.”

“His name is Louis,” Harry says firmly. “He is no longer ‘the French boy’.”

“Did you kiss him?” Zayn asks, and Harry finally pulls away to go sit on the couch instead of standing at the door. Zayn follows, plopping down next to him.

“He kissed my cheek…” Harry said slowly. “And my head. It’s a French thing.”

“You’re bullshitting me,” Zayn declared. “There’s no way.”

“I swear to you.”

“French thing,” Zayn scoffed. “Don’t they usually kiss both cheeks? As a greeting, or summat. I think he just wanted to kiss you.”

“Really?” And this is the reason that Harry tells Zayn everything, because Zayn always seems to know just what to say and he’s always completely honest when it comes down to it.

“Seriously,” Zayn nods. “I really think he likes you, Harry. Which is why he’s coming to visit the shop tomorrow, and so… we need to get to bed. Brush your teeth, shower, I’ll stop playing the mother card and head to bed myself. Night mate, love you.”

“Love you, too,” Harry sighs.

Zayn ruffles Harry’s hair even though he knows Harry hates it, and he heads into his room. Harry walks into the kitchen to get a glass of water, feeds Dee because she’s on the cabinet where she’s not supposed to be, and heads to the bathroom to shower and brush his teeth. When he’s clean and minty fresh he walks to his room with just a towel around his waist and pulls on some boxers before he shake-dries his hair and crawls beneath his sheets. This part of the night is usually the part Harry hates most, the part that’s quiet and dark. It’s the part where on any other night he’d feel lonely and lost, like a piece of his heart is missing, or maybe like it’s never been there in the first place. But this time, he feels very whole, and he keeps thinking of a blue eyed, feathery haired boy who says his name without the H and has the world’s best laugh. For the first time in a long time, Harry falls asleep happy.

xx

Harry has his feet propped on the table with a bagel balanced on one leg, his fingers laced through his cat mug filled with tea, and an actual cat perched on the back of the couch he's sitting on as she stares over his shoulder at his food. He ignores her though, because she doesn't need the cream cheese he has lightly spread across the top. She already tried to steal his tea while he was letting it cool on the counter.

Zayn emerges from his bedroom with sleep rumpled clothing and bleary eyes, and he blinks at Harry, "Is today Wednesday?"

Harry’s only just taken a bite, so he nods his head so that he doesn’t have to mumble around the bagel. Dee slinks down onto the couch beside him and stretches, her paws pressed against Harry’s leg. She leans forward cautiously and gives Harry, what Zayn calls, a Dee lovebite on the hand, “Ow, minou.”

He gently shoos her away, and Zayn chuckles at him as he moves to feed the apparently hungry cat, “You’re actually not too bad at French. You know a lot of basic words. Are you going for another lesson tonight?”

“Zayn, I’ve been going to lessons for like two weeks now,” Harry replies once he’s swallowed his food. “Of course I’m going. It’s his turn to buy take-out.”

The dark haired boy feeds the cat and then pulls down a bowl out of the cabinets for his own food, “Two weeks and you haven’t even sucked his dick. Maybe it is purely friendly dinners and lessons.”

Harry rolls his eyes, “Life isn’t about sucking dick, Zayn. These two weeks may have just been friendly but they’ve been really fun. I’ve learned probably like, fifty words and over like ten different sentence structures. Louis always greets me and says goodbye with a kiss on the cheek, sometimes the forehead… he kissed my nose once.”

“I know, you tell me every time you come home from his flat. Just fuck him already,” Zayn declares, and Harry chokes a little on the tea he’s just sipped.

“Zayn,” he huffs, but then blushes as he puts his tea down on the coffee table and his feet on the floor. He tucks one hand under his knee and pulls at the skin of his lip with the other, something he does when he has too many thoughts going through his head. “I think that I’d like to… date him a little first. Like, I think I want to ask him out on an actual date.”

Zayn comes over with a bowl of cereal and sits down next to Harry, looking him over carefully, “Yeah? Are you serious about this?”

The curly haired boy chickens out then, shrugging his shoulders and shying away, “I don’t know. I guess I should think it through more.”

“How long have you been thinking about it?” Zayn nudges him encouragingly.

“A little over two weeks,” Harry blushes further, if that's possible. “Since the day he came into the shop.”

“Harry,” Zayn groans, drawing his name out. “Then ask him. If you’re still thinking about it, then it obviously is something that’s relevant to you.”

“How do I ask him?” Harry shrugs. “I’ve never asked anyone out but I've been asked out once and…”

“And we don’t talk about him,” Zayn scowls, but then he stirs his cereal around a little as he looks at Harry. “Just ask him. Louis obviously likes you if he keeps asking you to come over for lessons. All you have to do is say something like, ‘So we should go out sometime for something that isn’t a French lesson’. Offer to pay for the food. Offer to pick him up.”

“What if he says no?” Harry asks quietly, putting down his half-eaten bagel. His stomach drops and he feels uneasy all of the sudden. “Or if he really does think we’re only friends and I fuck everything up.”

Zayn slings an arm around Harry, nearly sloshing cereal all over them until Harry takes the bowl from him and sets it down on the coffee table, “That won’t happen, Harold. You know it won’t, Louis likes you. Okay, I know for a fact that he likes you he’s told me before that he thinks you’re cute. You know this.”

“I could still probably screw it up,” Harry mumbles.

“Alright, alright,” Zayn gets up and picks up his cereal then and hands Harry back the rest of his bagel. “That’s enough Harry-pity, if you sit and worry about it you’ll feel even worse. Eat this bagel and let’s get ready to open the shop. I know for a fact that a certain blue eyed boy likes to drop by before his shop opens.”

And Harry feels a little better thinking about Louis stopping by. It’s something else that finally gets out of bed in the morning. Ever since Louis had started stopping by, Harry had started dressing up a bit nicer. This particular morning he pulls on jeans that are unfortunately a bit too snug in the groin area, but they make his legs look less chicken-ish, so he likes them. He decides on a plain white t-shirt and a large lavender jumper to wear because it makes him think of flowers, and flowers make him think of Louis. Surprisingly Zayn pokes his head through Harry’s door with Dee in his arms, and he arches a brow.

“What?” Harry glances down at himself. “Does this look bad?”

“No,” Zayn shakes his head in amusement. “It just makes me laugh when you try to impress the French boy.”

“His name is Louis,” Harry huffs.

Zayn does it on purpose though, and he laughs as he walks away, calling back to Harry, “I’m headed down to the shop. See you there.”

Harry hurries to fix his hair, and then he rushes down the steps to the shop where Zayn is already checking their inventory. Deciding to dust to pass the time, Harry grabs the rag and bottle of cleaner from behind the shop and begins his rounds around all the different cases, spraying the rag first and then carefully wiping down the shelves. He doesn’t dare get any of the cleaner on the vinyls or their covers for fear of damaging them. By the time he finishes it’s nearly 9:30am, and there has yet to be a customer.

Zayn had gotten to choose the record for the day, and it’s playing some song Harry has never heard before. Harry opens the front door despite the chill of the morning air. People are always much more prone to coming in if he opens the front door. When the door is open, however, it makes the two lads unable to hear the little bell that clinks when someone comes in. Which is why Harry is completely oblivious, as he wipes down the front counter, that he is being approached from behind.

“Je suis à la recherche d'un garçon avec des boucles,” Harry knows the voice immediately, and not just because it was speaking French.

He spins around and sends his bottle of cleaner clattering onto the floor, and he manages to croak out, “Oh. Hi, Louis.”

Louis laughs, picking up the spray bottle and tucking it back into Harry’s grip before he seizes Harry’s face in his hands and kisses Harry’s cheek, “ ‘Ello, ‘Arry.”

“You scared me,” Harry lies and smiles, because he wasn’t necessarily scared, just thrilled to see Louis. Excitement usually made him clumsy. Lots of things made him clumsy.

“Je suis désolé,” Louis pats Harry’s shoulder. At Louis’ arrival, Dee jumps up onto Harry’s freshly cleaned counter and rolls around in attempts to get Louis’ attention. Of course, it works. “Ah oui, Dee! ‘Ow are you, joli minou?”

He scratches her neck, and she happily rubs her head into his hand. Harry pulls at the skin of his lip, trying to think of a way to make conversation, “She tried to steal my bagel this morning.”

Louis giggles, “I don’t think kitties are supposed to 'ave bagels, Dee.”

“I know what you said earlier though,” Harry says suddenly. For some strange reason Dee makes him incredibly jealous. She basks under the attention of Louis, and whereas Harry likes when Louis is paying attention to him, it makes him incredibly nervous. “Or… I kind of know what you said.”

“Oui?” Louis arches his brow, and he pulls his hand away from Dee to lean against the counter. He makes the exact same face when he’s waiting for Harry to repeat back a vocabulary word to him.

“Something about looking for… a boy. I don’t know the entirety, I suppose,” Harry blushes.

Louis smiles largely, however, nodding proudly, “Good, ‘Arry! Oui, I said I was looking for a boy with curly ‘air.”

“Did you find him?” Harry jokes weakly.

“I did,” Louis nods. “I want to take ‘im to my flower shop today if ‘e wants to come?”

“Oh,” Harry pales. He does want to go with Louis, but he’s only ever been to Louis’ flat where he could sit in his chair and eat take-out food. It doesn’t involve walking or being in public where he can easily embarrass himself in front of Louis. “I- I would love to but-”

“Louis!” Zayn joins them, and he pulls Louis into a one armed hug that makes Harry shoot him daggers. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“I scared ‘Arry ‘ere,” Louis grins, hugging Zayn back. “I asked ‘im if ‘e wanted to come see my shop, but ‘e is most likely busy so-”

“Right now?” Zayn looks to Harry, whose eyes widen largely. Zayn gives him an evil smirk, before he looks back to Louis. “He’s not busy at all. You go ahead Harry, our shop is incredibly dead today. I’m pretty sure I can handle you being gone a few hours. Or more. Go crazy.”

“Zayn we are visiting my shop, not going to a club,” Louis scoffs fondly, and Harry gives a nervous giggle.

“Take him anywhere,” Zayn proclaims. “He needs to get out for a change, I don’t think your flat counts anymore.”

“Will you come, ‘Arry?” Louis asks, blinking up at the curly haired boy through long lashes, and Harry thinks that it’s not even fair. He can’t be expected to say no to this boy, if Louis wanted Harry’s soul Harry would probably give it to him free of charge.

“Yes,” Harry nods finally. “Yes, I want to see your shop.”

“Good,” Louis hums, gently grabbing Harry’s wrist so he can lead him along. “We’ll see you later, Zayn. Au revoir.”

Harry gives Zayn a desperate look as Louis leads him from the door, but then they’re walking out in the chill of the autumn air. Louis lets go of Harry, but he walks closer so that their arms a brushing. Harry clears his throat, “So uh… how far is your shop from here?”

“Not far,” Louis responds. “Fifteen minutes of walking. It’s fairly close to my flat. It’s too bad I don’t live above my shop like you and Zayn. I think that would be ‘andy.”

“What’s fifteen in French again?” Harry asks.

“Quinze,” Louis chuckles. “Tonight we can refresh your memory on one through twenty if you want.”

“Yeah, that sounds good,” the English boy nods in agreement.

The rest of the walk is fairly quiet on Harry’s part. Louis babbles off on some story about a customer who had wanted to buy a flower without any form of potting. The woman had apparently just wanted the soil and roots to be placed in her hands so that she could take it home and immediately plant it. Harry chuckles along, but he’s more intrigued by Louis’ smooth accent and his high voice. He loves it so much.

“ ‘Ere we are,” Louis hums, gesturing ahead to the shop. There’s an array of plants and flowers out front, and the actual building is made of brick aside from the front, which is mainly glass and black woodworking. Harry thinks it looks elegant, which shouldn’t at all surprise him since it’s Louis. In gold letters on the front, Harry can make out Belles Fleurs.

“It’s beautiful,” Harry says in all honesty.

Louis blushes, and as they walk up to the building he unlocks the front door, “Merci…”

He holds open the door for Harry, gesturing for Harry to go in first much like he did the first night Harry had gone to his flat. Harry wanders into the store. The air is thick and humid, warm feeling. It’s quite the contrast from the dry air outside. Plants are everywhere, and it almost seems like some sort of jungle to Harry. He loves it.

“This is great,” he murmurs, wandering around idly and looking at all the plants. There’s bags of soil stacked neatly in several places, empty flowerpots line the back wall of the store. Louis simply follows Harry around quietly, letting Harry take in the room. “All of these plants are so beautiful.”

“You can ‘ave whatever plant you want,” Louis tells him. “Since you gave me the record.”

“Oh,” Harry says in surprise. “It’s okay, really, you don’t have to give me anything. I still need to help you find a record player for your record.”

“I want to give you a plant,” Louis insists.

“Umm…” Harry turns a complete circle, looking at all the gorgeous plants he’s surrounded by. “I think I would need something for plant beginners. What if I kill it on accident?”

“I ‘ave the perfect thing,” Louis says immediately. He leaves Harry standing in the forest of plants, disappearing around one of the shelves. He can still hear Louis rustling around though, and then Louis appears once more, holding out a small pot towards Harry.

"A cactus?" Harry looks at the spiked plant with a dumbfounded expression.

"Oui? A cactus," Louis' eyebrows knit together, and he smiles. He offers the clay pot to the taller boy slowly, making sure to go extra slow so Harry can't drop the pot and make a mess.

Harry takes the cactus in his hands and raises his hand like he wants to pet it, but instead he decides to touch one of the bunches of bristles gently. He thinks it would hurt him if he pressed a little harder and then he realizes it’s common sense not to full blown touch a pointed object.

"Do you like it, 'Arry?" Louis questions, his bottom lip caught between his teeth and this is the part where Harry would set down the pot full of cactus like a gentleman before completely ravaging the man before him. Harry clears his throat, straightens his back and practically looms over Louis making the French boy tilt his head and look up at him. Harry thinks he likes this angle because he feels confident and that's nice.

"It's everything I could've asked for and more," he says cheerfully and he takes a few steps down from that level he was on. Louis giggles and Harry's kind of glad he took a few steps back.

Louis grins and puts his hands together like he's had his mind on something else the entire time and is finally going to say it.

"You know," he starts, blushing slightly. "It's been dix-huit jours since we first met and-"

"Date me," Harry blurts.

Louis stares at him, mouth ajar and Harry doesn't know whether to start swearing profusely or mumble out as many apologies as he can.

"I mean like um- a date? It doesn't even have to be a date! It could be a date if you want it to be, but that's only if you-"

"Oui," Louis smiles fondly.

"Excuse me?" Harry cannot believe this is happening and his brain is too mixed up to be translating French to English.

Louis smiles wider, "Oui, 'Arry, yes."

And holy shit that just happened. Harry's throat hurts, he feels like crying because he's such an idiot, but he's an idiot who needs to start planning a date.

He doesn't know if he should leave the moment to what it is or jump and cry because he's too happy, but his thoughts are interrupted when he feels a body press into his. His arms wrap around the shorter boy instinctively, settling into the warmth and already getting used to the feel of Louis.

Louis sighs as his head rests against Harry's broad chest, thinking this is probably what heaven feels like. Harry smells like cinnamon and when his hands come to rest on Louis' back, Louis can feel how cold they actually are and he loves it.

“Tonight?” Harry says immediately. He doesn’t think he can wait, if he waits then it’ll give him time to think about how much of a fool he could possibly make of himself. But he refuses to chicken out. Because Louis said yes and Harry was sure his heart was going to explode from the joy he felt. “I know we usually have a French lesson but this can get you out of buying take-out because I’m going to pay.”

“Anytime is good,” Louis hums, and they’re still hugging and Harry almost doesn’t want to let go. He pulls back to study Louis’ face though, he wants to make sure Louis isn’t teasing him. Louis is smiling so wide that makes Harry’s heart ache because fuck Louis is gorgeous.

“Yeah, yeah tonight then,” Harry nods. “I can pick you up from your flat. I don’t exactly own a vehicle but I mean like we can walk, I won’t make you walk far I promise-”

“I’m going to need a time, ‘Arry,” Louis reminds, giggling at Harry as the boy rambles.

“Right!” Harry shakes his head at himself. “I- I’m just really happy, sorry, um. 7:30pm like our French lessons?”

“I need to pick something to wear!” Louis taps his chin. “7:30pm is perfect, if I’m not busy maybe I’ll just close a little early…”

Harry leans down and picks back up his little cactus, looking at it fondly. It’s cute and tiny, much like the boy in front of him. “You always look nice…”

Louis blushes, and Harry’s heart swells. The blue eyed boy is going to be the death of him, he just knows it, “You’re sweet, ‘Arry.”

Before Harry can fluster himself up more, or before he explodes from all the overwhelming emotions he feels, he awkwardly ducks back in to hug Louis again, “I need to get back to my shop and- I need to get ready for our date!”

Louis hugs back and stands on his toes to kiss Harry’s temple, “See you at 7:30!”

“Yeah,” Harry giggles giddily, and he ends the hug to stumble backwards a little. Louis covers his mouth to hide a smile as Harry trips over his own feet, barely managing to right himself, and gives one last little wave before he hurries from the building.

He clutches his cactus pot close to him and practically speed walks the entire way back to the shop. When he reaches the open shop door, he strides through it happily. Zayn is seated behind the counter reading a magazine, but he looks up as Harry proudly places his cactus on the counter in front of his best friend.

“Cool cactus,” Zayn chuckles. “How was the flower shop?”

“Where would you take someone for a first date?” Harry asks, positively beaming.

Zayn stands up so fast his stool topples to the ground, sending Dee, who had been investigating the record player, rocketing off towards the back of the store, “No fucking way. Did he ask you out?”

“I asked him,” Harry crowed. “I asked him, Zayn, and he said yes!”

Zayn scoots Harry’s cactus out of the way so he can reach across the counter and drag Harry into an awkward hug, “I’m so proud! You asked him, I figured I was going to have to ask him out for you! When’s your date?”

“Tonight.”

Zayn gives Harry an unamused look, “You plan on taking Louis on the perfect date that you’ve planned in less than twelve hours?”

“I didn’t want to wait any longer,” Harry groans. “Eighteen days, Zayn. That’s how long I’ve known him. That’s how long I’ve wanted to take him out on a date. I finally asked and he said yes, and I don’t care where we go honestly because I think any date with him will be fun because it’s with him.”

“That’s actually really sweet,” Zayn purses his lips thoughtfully.

“There’s that nice restaurant between his flat and ours,” Harry says decidedly. “I’m picking him up at 7:30, or maybe earlier, and then we’ll walk there. After that maybe we can… walk to the park or something? It’ll be dark and the lamps will come on along the path there. Usually they hang up the fairy lights around this time, don’t they?”

“Not bad, Styles,” Zayn says in approval. “Maybe you actually can pull off a good first date that was planned in less than twelve hours.”

Harry walks behind the counter with Zayn, picking up his cactus and sitting down on his stool. He gently touches one of the bunches of spikes, biting his lip, “I hope he likes it. He does these things that just make me really happy. They actually make me want leave the shop. I like going and seeing him and I like when he comes and sees me… and so I want to make him happy, too. I want this date to make him as happy as I know it’ll make me.”

“It’s gonna be great, Harry,” Zayn reassures, picking his own stool up from where it had fallen over. “Now. Go put your cactus somewhere safe, somewhere Dee won’t knock it over, and go ahead and go dig through whatever closet you need to. I’m sure you’ll end up stealing my clothes.”

Harry jumps up, setting his cactus down on the counter momentarily so he can grab Zayn’s face and kiss both his cheeks.

“It’s a French thing.”

He scoops back up his cactus and practically waltzes up the steps while Zayn watches, shaking his head. Yet by the time it’s nearly 7pm, and Harry is all dressed up in black jeans without holes, brown boots that he likes very much, and a white button up shirt that shows off his collarbones nicely, he’s so nervous he thinks he could puke. Zayn is helping Harry lint roll himself for any possible Dee hair. He adjusts Harry’s quiff, helps him into his jacket, and makes sure he’s got his wallet and phone.

“You’re going to be fine,” Zayn promises. “It’s Louis. You’ve known him for eighteen days and you like leaving the flat to see him, remember? That’s what you’re doing. You’re leaving the flat to see him.”

“Yeah,” Harry squeaks, swallowing hard. He’s already texted Louis that he’s about to leave, and Zayn ushers him out the door. So Harry finds himself walking towards Louis’ flat for their first date ever. He’s anxious and terrified, and he nearly walks right past Louis’ flat building he’s so anxious. But Louis calls out to him, slipping out the front building door and hurrying towards him.

“ ‘Arry! You did mean to ask me out, right?” he giggles. “No other French boys?”

Harry’s eyes fall on Louis, and he nearly cries. Louis looks absolutely stunning, far better than Harry does. He’s wearing a cream coloured knit sweater, dark blue pants rolled up at the ankles that cling to all the right places, and gray Vans.

“Just you,” Harry breathes. “I don’t want to take out any other French boys… they wouldn’t look half as good as you do, God Louis. You look… can we go back to my house and change? I feel so-”

Louis laughs, “I think you look incredibly ‘andsome, ‘Arry. You don’t need to change, I like that shirt. May I borrow it sometime?”

“It’s Zayn’s,” Harry admits weakly. “I stole it out of his closet.”

“Steal it for me next time,” Louis hums, and he finally steps forward to press a kiss to Harry’s cheek. “But I think I like it better on you than I would on me.”

Harry hesitantly holds his arm out, offering to link arms with Louis. Louis accepts with a smile, and Harry breathes a slight sigh of relief, “So I was thinking… we could go eat at this restaurant not far from here, and then we can walk to the park?"

Louis nods and licks his lips, "That sounds great, 'Arry."

They set off walking, and somehow as they walk their arms gradually slide apart only for their hands to mould together. Louis’ hand feels so fragile in Harry’s larger one, and Harry strokes his thumb against the soft skin of Louis’ wrist, “Usually you’ve got me trying to speak French at this time.”

“This is true,” Louis’ hand squeezes Harry’s gently, and Harry feels like his heart is being squeezed as well. “You ‘ave learned a lot though, I think a break is reasonable. Plus it gets me out of ‘aving to pay for take-out this time.”

“That’s the true reason you came,” Harry teases weakly, and he subconsciously pulls Louis a bit closer to him as a group of teenagers walk past them on the sidewalk.

“You caught me,” Louis giggles, but then he shakes his head. “Non, I wanted to spend time with the curly haired English boy. Time outside my flat, I mean.”

They reach the restaurant, and Harry lets go of Louis’ hand to open the door for him. Louis blushes at the act of kindness, thanking Harry quietly as he hurries inside. Harry follows Louis inside, and Louis holds his hand out again for Harry to take. Harry accepts immediately, because some part of him really wants to always be touching Louis. If he can see Louis, he wants to be able to reach out and brush his fingers over the bony structure of Louis’ knuckles, or he wants to touch the delicate features of Louis’ face.

“How many?” a waitress asks, and Harry holds up two fingers.

He giggles a little, looking to Louis. “Deux.”

Louis smiles, shaking his head affectionately, and the waitress gathers them menus before she leads them to their booth. Harry slides in on one side, expecting Louis to sit across from him, but instead Louis slides in next to him. The boy blinks at Louis in surprise, but Louis is already opening his menu.

“Can I get you two something to drink?”

“Water,” Louis replies absentmindedly, his eyes scanning the dinner section of the menu.

“Water for me as well,” Harry says softly, and then he’s picking at the skin of his lip as he watches Louis. “Get anything you want.”

“A grilled chicken panini sounds good,” Louis leans in closer to Harry to show him what he’s talking about. Their sides are almost completely pressed together, but Harry’s not complaining. He just finds it a bit difficult to focus on what Louis is saying to him.

“I think… I want some pasta,” Harry says softly.

When the waitress brings them their water, she takes their orders, and then they’re left sitting quietly in the booth while they wait for their food. Harry almost panics, because he should be talking to his date, but he doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t want Louis to be bored nor does he want to embarrass himself.

“This will definitely be much better than take-out,” Louis turns in the booth so that he can look at Harry. “I suppose I could ‘ave sat across from you so I could face you when we speak but I don’t like sitting alone if it’s not a seat made for just one person, oui?”

“Oui,” Harry smiles a little. “I understand what you mean. It feels kind of a big, lonely almost.”

“Oui,” Louis nods happily, pleased that Harry is on the same page. “Besides, it’s much more comfortable to sit ‘ere with you. We’re always sitting across from each other, might as well mix it up.”

Harry picks at the fabric of his pants, feeling shy with Louis’ eyes on him all of a sudden. He looks back up at the boy, quietly admiring his fringe for a few moments before he asks, “Do you want to hear a joke?”

And that’s how Harry breaks the ice. It’s almost as if he can’t stop talking after that, telling Louis every story he can think of about his childhood, or about he and Zayn, he even tells stories about Dee. Louis seems thrilled by them, laughing along with Harry and telling several stories of his time spent in France. When their food arrives, Harry gives Louis half his pasta and Louis gives Harry half of his panini.

“I’m ‘aving a fantastic time,” Louis tells Harry between stories. “You should have asked me out the day we met.”

“I could barely form a sentence around you the day we met,” Harry blushes.

“But you talk to me now,” Louis points out. “Which I like a lot, by the way.”

“I probably talk too much.”

“Nope,” Louis shakes his head. “I promise you ‘Arry, you don’t. Talk as much as you please. I like ‘earing what you ‘ave to say.”

Harry blushes, “I like hearing what you have to say as well. Especially because your accent is cute.”

Louis laughs, leaning into Harry to rest his forehead against the larger boy’s shoulder, “Ahh, I don’t know what you mean by that. I, ‘owever, am stuffed. Did you say we were walking next?”

“Through the park,” Harry leans forward to search for the waitress who would have their bill.

Once they’ve paid, they both exit the booth and restaurant, and Louis takes Harry’s hand in his own once more. He doesn’t even look to Harry for permission, simply takes it in his own and tangles their fingers together. It plasters a smile on Harry’s face, though, and the two walk the few blocks to the park. Like Harry had expected, the street is dark and only illuminated by street lamps. People are still out though, many of them holding hands much like Harry and Louis.

Much to Harry’s joy, the fairy lights are strung up along the lamp posts around the park path. As soon as Louis notices them, he squeezes Harry’s hand happily, “Oh, those are cool looking. Do they always ‘ave them up in the park?”

“Just in the fall and winter,” Harry explains. “It’s like they get too excited for Christmas and put up lights early.”

“My birthday is the day before Christmas,” Louis tells him. “You know, just for future reference. A record player would be a decent gift, I believe.”

“My birthday is thirteen days before Valentine’s day…” Harry tries, but it’s definitely not as cool as being born on Christmas Eve. “How about I get you a record player as a ‘Thanks for agreeing to date me’ gift?”

Louis laughs loudly as the two walk in through the park entrance and start down the leaf covered path, “You don’t ‘ave to give me a gift for going on a date with you. Thirteen days before Valentine’s day though, oui? I will remember. ‘Ow… ‘ow old will you be? We’re very uneducated about each other.”

“Twenty-one,” Harry announces. “I’m kind of old, I know.”

The smaller lad seems surprised, however, “I was expecting at least twenty-four, you seem very… large.”

“Large?” Harry asks, gazing at the light-wrapped street lamps as they walk past.

“Good large,” Louis says quickly. “Like a tall, strong kind of large. ‘Ow old do you think I am? Take a guess.”

Harry stops their walking then so he can take a step back and examine Louis’ entire body, grasping his chin thoughtfully between his forefinger and thumb, “Hmm. Nineteen.”

“Flattered,” Louis giggles. “But no. I’m twenty-two, I’ll be twenty-three this December.”

“There’s no way,” Harry shakes his head. “You’re so… so tiny!”

“I’m telling the truth!” Louis insists, grabbing Harry’s hand and pulling him back into walking again. “I moved ‘ere when I was twenty-one and I opened Belles Fleurs. But now I am twenty-two.”

“Well now we know,” Harry chuckles, giving their entwined hands a small swing. “We know that you are incredibly small for your age and I’m obnoxiously large.”

They make nearly four rounds around the park path, simply talking and holding hands. They learn silly little things about each other, like how Harry can play the ukulele and how Louis likes trying to play the guitar even if it makes his neighbors downstairs bang on their ceiling with a broom. Harry learns that Louis’ middle name is William, and Louis learns that Harry’s middle name is Edward.

When they’re tired of walking, they sit down on a fountain in the middle of the park. There’s less lighting, but as long as it’s not pitch black they don’t mind.

“I’m not sure I want to go back to my flat yet,” Louis sighs. “I ‘ave ‘ad a great time with you, ‘Arry.”

Harry pulls out his phone. He has several text messages from Zayn, and he’s surprised to see that it’s already almost 10:30pm, “I’ve had a good time, too. We don’t have to go back yet.”

Louis grins, leaning against Harry and sighing happily, “We definitely ‘ave to do this again. Maybe our French lessons should turn into outings instead of sitting in my boring flat.”

“We’ll figure something out,” Harry murmurs softly, turning his head so he could look at the blue eyed boy on his shoulder without disturbing him. He reaches into his pocket though, digging out a bit of change. He offers Louis a coin, and Louis sits up and lifts a brow curiously. “Do you want to make a wish?”

“Oh,” Louis chuckles but takes the coin. “I ‘aven’t done that since I was very young.”

Both toss their coins into the water of the fountain, and Harry halfway hopes that Louis will go back to leaning against him. He was a comforting warmth against Harry’s side, a contrast to the chilly fall night, “Are you warm enough?”

“I’m alright,” Louis nods, and just like Harry wanted he scoots close again to rest against Harry. “What did you wish for?”

Harry blushes, “If I tell you it won’t come true…”

Louis sits straight again, a cute little determined look forming on his face, “I wished that a certain curly ‘aired boy would take me on more dates because I ‘ad such a good time on this one. And that’s going to come true, isn’t it?”

“Of course,” Harry nearly splutters. “Yeah, yeah definitely.”

“See?” Louis grins smugly. “Now I told you mine and it’s still going to come true, so will you tell me yours?”

Their wishes were different though, because whereas Louis’ wish was cute and endearing, Harry found his own wish rather embarrassing. But he can’t lie to Louis, nor can he say no to Louis, so he sucks in a shaky breath of air before he speaks softly, “I wished that I was brave enough to kiss you…”

Surprise flits across Louis’ features, but only for a moment. Louis’ face quickly becomes unreadable after that, and he leans away from Harry to watch the younger boy closely, “I see… well…”

“I’m sorry-” Harry mumbles. “I know, it’s a dumb wish and probably inappropriate or something because like-”

“I’ll just ‘ave to meet your wish ‘alfway,” Louis shrugs, and then he’s leaning in and cupping Harry’s face, much like he does when he kisses Harry’s cheeks. But instead of Louis’ lips brushing against the skin of Harry’s cheekbone, Louis’ thin yet lovely lips press against his, and Harry stops breathing.

He’s so taken aback that he doesn’t know what to do at first, and he sits there dumbly until he realizes that this is actually happening. Louis pulls away a few inches, his face hesitant. Harry wasn’t done kissing him, hadn’t really gotten to kiss him properly in the first place. Then it’s his turn to duck forward and connect his lips to Louis’, cradling Louis’ jaw with one hand as his other hand goes to the back of Louis’ head to card through the soft hair there. It isn’t a cliche kiss with sparks or fireworks, it’s more like they’re melting. And it's LouisLouisLouis, it's all Harry can taste and all Harry can feel. Happiness is Louis' lips on his. Happiness is meeting halfway and not being disappointed as to what's in the middle. This is Harry and Louis, this is Louis pressed against Harry in an intimate way, this is Harry's version of happiness.

xx

There's a lot of people racing around the streets of England this Saturday afternoon and none of them will stop bumping into Louis. He's been walking for the past fifteen minutes, trying to finish the cigarette that's in his right hand while the other is fishing around in the pocket of his jean jacket, looking for a spare mint so his breath won't reek of tobacco. He looks to the left and through the window and sees Zayn talking to a young couple. Louis smiles to himself and stomps out the cigarette before stepping into the record shop, greeted with the familiar woody smell and soft playing music. Zayn's attention diverts from the couple to Louis, he gives him a small wave and a smile.

"Où est mon 'Arry?" He questions as his eyes scan over the shop.

He looks to the back door as it opens as Harry comes sauntering out. He looks over and sees Louis, a smile on his face. Louis moves past Zayn, navigates himself through the aisles and meets Harry in the back. Louis hums quietly and wraps his arms around Harry's neck, he leans up and places a gentle kiss on Harry's lips. Harry's hands find their way to Louis' hips as Louis raises up on his tippy toes to make it more comfortable for Harry. Harry's hands slide behind Louis, and he bravely flexes his fingers over Louis' bum. Louis squeaks, surprised at the act of confidence coming from the usually awkward boy.

"Keep your hands to yourself, Harry, we have customers!" Zayn shouts from the other side of the shop causing the boys to break up in a blushing mess. Harry pulls away, wiping at his lips while Louis rolls his eyes and grabs for Harry's hand.

"Leave the poor boy alone, Zayn," Louis jokes as he drags Harry up to stand in front of Zayn. “It’s ‘ard enough as it is to make ‘im see that I like it when 'e shows physical affection.”

Harry pouts a bit as he stumbles to stand behind Louis. He sets his hands on Louis' small shoulders and gently digs his thumbs into the muscle, giving Louis a mini massage while he chats with Zayn. He hears Louis sigh quietly, and he smiles.

"Is Harry good with his hands?" Zayn teases.

Louis nods, his eyes half open, and smiles, "Really good."

Harry's face flushes pink as he runs his hands down Louis' back slowly, his fingers spread across Louis' wide hips. Harry's knees are bent a bit to get more comfortable because Louis is easily six inches shorter than himself. But Harry is glad to bend down every time they kiss or set his hands on the curve of Louis' waist when he leans up to wrap his arms around his neck and pull him into a tight hug. Harry has gotten progressively touchy since they've had their first kiss, but Louis isn't complaining.

Two weeks, it had been two weeks since their first date, their first kiss, they had known each other for over a month, and Louis can’t seem to get enough of the curly haired boy. They’d been on about four dates after their first, they still had French lessons, and they alternated visiting each other’s shops during the day. They were, without a doubt, hopelessly in love.

“At massages,” Harry says quickly. “My hands are good at massages.”

“Louis, I’m sure he’s good at more, eh?” the dark-haired boy wiggles his eyebrows rapidly, and Harry is sure all his blood is rushing to his face.

Louis laughs, rolling his eyes, “I wouldn’t know, Zayn, ‘Arry and I aren’t animals. We kiss, we ‘old ‘ands, and we cuddle. Nothing more, we’ve only been together for two weeks.”

“Is he your boyfriend?” Zayn coos.

The blue eyed boy turns, taking Harry’s face into his hands as he beams up at the taller lad, “Oui… mon petit ami.”

“Mon petit ami,” Harry repeats back, head over heels for this gorgeous boy in front of him.

Zayn has to head behind the counter then so he can check-out the girls who he had been talking to previously. Harry takes Louis by the hand and leads him through the door in the back of the shop, stopping in the stairwell and carefully pulling the door to a cracked position behind them. It’s dim, and a bit dusty, but Harry’s arms wrap around Louis’ waist to pull them together, and Louis forgets all about where they are.

Harry is all he sees, all he feels, all he breathes. Warm and cinnamony, firm and strong, so very Harry. Louis can’t help but reach up and tug at some of the curls that poke out from the ridiculous purple bandana Harry’s wearing. Louis loves Harry’s bandanas. The two don’t speak, they simply touch. Harry’s cold hands are against the small of Louis’ back, linked to trap him there, and Louis is at the perfect height to rest his head against Harry’s chest so he can hear the heartbeat he’s coming to love. Just as he nuzzles into Harry happily, feels Harry press a kiss to the top of his head, the door swings open and shatters the dimness and serenity.

“Please don’t suck each other’s dicks in the stairwell,” Zayn groans. “Especially not when the shop is open. You didn’t even have the decency to shut the door.”

“We were not-” Harry huffs. “We’re only talking.”

“At least ‘talk’ somewhere that I’m not,” Zayn turns to walk away, calling over his shoulder. “I’m rooting for you two to bang, but preferably not in my presence.”

Harry flips off Zayn’s back, and Louis giggles into the taller boy’s shoulder. He noses at Louis’ temple, whispering seductively, “Wanna help me sort cassettes?”

“ ‘Arry, you sure do know ‘ow to please a man,” Louis hums. “Such a romantic.”

Happily, Harry drags Louis along with him to the cassette shelves and racks, and Louis watches in adoring interest as Harry waves his hands about while he explains what to do.

“So like… there’s little labels on them? And it says the genre, artist, and song title on it. Just match the genre to the genre tabs on the shelves, and from there put it in alphabetical order by artist.”

His words are precise and slow, making it extremely easy to catch everything that he’s saying. Louis nods along so that Harry knows he’s listening, Harry’s already so shy as it is, Louis wants to always make sure Harry knows that his voice is heard.

“Will you fix anything I mess up?” Louis chuckles. “English is my second language, even if I’m fluent in it. I’m guaranteed to mix up a few of the cassettes.”

Harry’s face is bright and happy, “Oui, petit ami.”

However, Harry’s hands are large and a bit clumsy as he stacks the cassettes to be organized, so Louis does more straightening and making sure things don’t fall than he does organizing. Zayn eventually comes over, examining the two in amusement, “Harry, are you really making your boyfriend do your manual labor?”

“I ‘ave made ‘im ‘elp me water plants before,” Louis explains to Zayn. “It’s only fair. Speaking of plants, ‘Arry, ‘ow is your cactus?”

“Cute and small,” Harry announces, and he blushes a little as he turns and boops Louis’ nose. “Like you.”

“I’m going to puke,” declares Zayn.

Zayn walks off, and Harry sets to work sorting again. Unfortunately, it’s nearly time for Louis to open his own shop. He takes the cassettes from Harry’s hands carefully, that way he’s less likely to alarm him, and slots himself into Harry’s arms for a hug, “I ‘ave to go soon.”

“Oh,” Harry replies, and he sounds sad.

Louis looks up at him to find the face Harry always wears anytime they depart from one another, a face that looks like a pouty frog. He tries to kiss it off of him, but to no avail. So instead, Louis pats Harry’s chest, “I did come ‘ere for more reasons that just seeing you though! I still need you to teach me ‘ow to work the record player you bought me the other day. It’s not a French lesson day, but do you want to come over for dinner?”

Much to Louis’ joy Harry’s face lights up, “Yeah! I mean, yeah. Yeah that sounds fun. And I can show you how to work the record player again. Do you want another record to try out as well? You can take as many as you want.”

“I’m content on records for now, I think. You can come over as soon as you close your shop. Meet me at my shop if you want?” Louis nods, smiling at Harry.

“Oui,” Harry smiles, wrapping his arms around Louis’ waist and locking his fingers once more. “Or what if I just keep you here with me?”

“My plants will die and I’ll be sad,” Louis tells him with a sigh. “I unfortunately must go.”

Harry brushes their lips together in response, nuzzling his nose to Louis’ a bit as he pulls back, “I suppose…”

Louis kissed Harry’s cheek one last time, “See you tonight, ‘Arry. Text me!”

The boy fixes Harry’s bandana again before he backs away waving, leaving Harry looking gangly and sad. Yet, if he doesn’t leave he knows he’ll end up staying to help his goofy record shop owner sort more cassettes, and then all of his inventory will grow dehydrated. He waves to Zayn as he leaves, blows Harry a kiss, and then he’s out the door into the chilly fall air, and heading to open his flower shop.

×

“You two are like, up each other’s asses,” Zayn declares, coming to help Harry sort cassettes. “And not even in the fun way.”

Harry glares at him, because he’s already sad that Louis couldn’t stay and that he couldn’t go with Louis. He bats Zayn’s hands away as they try to touch his already organized cassettes, “It’s fun for us. We like being together. I’m going to his house again tonight.”

“To finish what you started in the stairwell?” Zayn nudges Harry with his elbow.

“I’m teaching him how to use his record player,” Harry rolls his eyes.

“Kinky.”

“I think I can handle the cassette tapes!” Harry finally announces, trying to shoo Zayn away so that he’ll stop his tormenting.

“I’m kidding, Harry, I’m kidding,” Zayn soothes, patting Harry on the back. “You’ve got a hot French boyfriend and you can do whatever you please with him. Even if it means you two don’t have sex for the rest of your lives. Hell, maybe Louis doesn’t even like sex. Maybe he wants to wait until marriage, do you think? He seems like he could be that kind of guy. Good morals. Definitely a keeper.”

Harry finally whines, “Stop…”

Zayn cackles as he darts away from Harry, leaving Harry pouting and confused. He isn’t at all going to rush Louis into things, the furthest sexual thing they’d done was a little bum groping during kissing. There was concern at the back of Harry’s mind, because if Louis was the type of person to wait until marriage then Harry wanted to know before he tried to make a move or something. It would be just Harry’s luck to try and come on to Louis only to be turned down.

But then again, he thought, if Louis was one to grope his bum back, then maybe perhaps he wasn’t the waiting type. Harry ends up sticking cassettes wherever because he’s too anxious now to organize, and he texts Louis.

Make it to your shop okay?

The reply is almost instant.

Got mugged along the way, the usual.

What are you okay?!

Calm down I’m joking. I’m fine, excited for tonight. x

Harry gives a shaky chuckle of relief, going to sit on his stool behind the counter. He had been preparing to drop everything and rush to Louis’ aid, but he could see that that wasn’t going to be necessary. So instead, he texted Louis back.

I’m excited too. I’ll head over to your shop as soon as we close ours.

Their texting gets cut short when a young man walks up to Harry with two cassette tapes and a record in hand, pushing them on to the counter in front of him. He looks friendly and is rather short. Harry types in the numbers while the boy stands there humming to himself and tapping his fingers on the wood.

"One more thing," the obviously Irish boy adds. "What record is playing right now?"

Harry listens to the music for a few seconds before he says, "It's Giants by Bear Hands."

"Thanks, mate," He says while he pulls out the money, giving it to Harry saying he could keep the change, and he takes his bag, leaving the shop just as the song comes to an end.

The rest of the time goes fairly well, the shop had more customers, some just scanning the store and others buying two full bags of music. Zayn is pleased to close the front door after a successful day but it's fair to say that Harry is more than excited. He's so excited he mumbles something to Zayn about getting ready while dashing up the stairs and into the bathroom.

He showers as fast as humanly possible to rid himself of the dust and any sweat, and he towels his hair dry before wrapping it once more in a clean bandana. It would take far too long to tame it. Brushing his teeth, he stands in front of his closet and tries to decide what he wants to wear. They were only going to be cuddling and playing with Louis’ record player Harry figures, so he goes for comfort. Well-worn jeans, the denim rubbed soft and frayed at the knees. He chooses a grey t-shirt and a beige knitted jumper to tug on, and he settles for black converse that are splitting a bit where the fabric attaches to the rubber.

Any other time he would just throw on the first decent thing he saw, but this is Louis he’s seeing, so even if he’s going to be comfortable he wants to look nice. In his haste to leave the room, he nearly trips over Dee. He stumbles out into the hall, and Zayn is seated on the couch watching tv. He glances over his shoulder at Harry, shaking his head, “Off to see Louis?”

“Yeah,” Harry murmurs urgently, slipping his jacket on and shooting Louis a quick text to make sure the boy was still at his own shop. “I’m meeting him at his store and walking him to his flat.”

However, he receives an answering text from Louis.

Go ahead and come to the flat! Sorry for the short notice, babe. I wanted to get an early start on dinner.

That’s fine, you’ll have to buzz me in though.

Right, right!

“Are you going to leave or just stand there and text him?” Zayn laughs. “Get a move on, go see if you can get in his pants.”

Harry debates on replying to Zayn with a ‘fuck you’ but instead he flips him off, “I don’t want to be here with you anyway.”

“Text me when you leave Louis’!” Zayn reminds with a shout as Harry starts to descend down the steps.

“Always do!” he yells back, shutting the door behind him and bounding down the steps.

The walk to Louis’ is more than familiar, and it always makes him feel so happy inside. It’s the walk back that he hates, because it means he has to leave Louis’ smile and Louis’ touch and just Louis. When he reaches Louis’ flat, he calls the boy instead of texting him, but instead of a reply the door unlocks and Harry slips inside and climbs to the third floor where Louis already has his flat door wide open. Something is clearly burning inside the flat, and Harry hurries up the last few steps and into the living room.

“ ‘Arry!” Louis calls happily. “Don’t mind the smell, water from my potatoes boiled over.”

Other than the burning smell, whatever food Louis is making does smell delicious. He hangs up his coat and toes off his shoes, wandering through the living room and into the kitchen where Louis is standing at the stove, “Smells good… can I help with anything?”

“You can sit!” Louis declares. “It would be smart to ask for ‘elp considering I don’t know what I’m doing, but I want to make dinner for you since you’re 'elping me.”

“What are you making? Harry asks, but he follows Louis’ request and sits at the small two person table that the kitchen holds.

“ ‘Opefully…” Louis says, opening his cooker to peek inside. “Chicken… stuffed with mozzarella wrapped in parma ‘am with a side of ‘omemade mash.”

Harry blinks several times as Louis closes the cooker door and turns the heat off, “That sounds very complicated. Do you do this a lot?”

Louis carries his potatoes over to the sink to drain out the water, and he shakes head, “No… this is actually the first time I’ve ever cooked dinner for a person.”

A warm feeling, other than the heat coming from the stove, fills Harry. He’s the first person that Louis has ever cooked for, and the thought of Louis caring enough to make him homemade meal makes Harry stand from his chair to go and hug the smaller lad, “I’m sure it’ll be great.”

“I ‘ope,” Louis murmurs, shaking his potatoes to drain them. He sets the pot down in the sink, however, and turns to give Harry a quick kiss on the mouth. “Do you think you can entertain yourself while I finish up dinner?”

Harry nods, and then he wanders around Louis’ kitchen and looks at the small little indoor plants that Louis has. Louis hums to himself, and Harry eventually sits down to watch Louis work. The older boy is in a long sleeved shirt, but the sleeves are rolled up, and his pants are extra tight in a way that threatens to make Harry’s pants tight as well. But finally, Louis stands on his tip toes and opens a cabinet, stretching in attempts to get plates down. It’s then that Harry recognizes his calling, and he leaps up to hurry to Louis’ aid.

“This is something I can do,” Harry hums, and Louis thanks him with a quick kiss to the cheek.

The blue eyed boy points to the cabinets on the opposite side of the kitchen though, “Do you want glasses? Or I think I ‘ave perrier in the fridge, we can just drink it from the bottle.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever had that, but I’m willing to try it,” he moves his gangly limbs away from the hot cooker and Louis to instead open Louis’ fridge in search for the perrier Louis spoke of. He pulls out two bottles and holds them up for Louis’ approval. “This stuff?”

“Oui,” Louis murmurs absentmindedly, seemingly putting food on their plates for the both of them. Harry sits cautiously at the kitchen table with the perrier bottles, and Louis eventually brings over two plates, and as he sits Harry’s in front of the curly haired lad, his nose scrunches. “Okay, if it’s bad you’ll pretend to like it right?”

“It won’t be bad,” Harry says with confidence. “It looks really good, Lou.”

Louis still looks nervous as he sits across from Harry at the table, waiting for Harry to take his first bite. Despite the temperature of the food, Harry takes a bite to please Louis, and just like he expected the chicken is really good.

“Est-il bon?” Louis queries.

“I think you asked if it was good because ‘bon’,” Harry says as he swallows down the food. “Oui. It’s really good Louis.”

The fringe haired boy blushes, “That’s good… I almost chickened out and ordered take out because I was afraid that you wouldn’t like it.”

Harry hands Louis his perrier, setting the bottle down and catching Louis’ hand as the lad reaches for it, “It’s very good, thanks for taking so much time to make it. My compliments to the chef.”

They discuss music genres as they eat, and when they finish Harry insists on helping clean up. Louis follows him around, trying to tug the larger man into the living room, “You’re the guest ‘Arry, you don’t need to ‘elp clean up my mess.”

But his tiny attempts were useless, and Harry washes the dishes while Louis dries and puts them where they belonged. Upon finishing Harry makes his way into Louis’ living room to put Louis’ record on the record player. Louis joins him, with the record player on the coffee tables between the two armchairs. Instead of sitting in his own armchair, Louis plops down in Harry’s lap, “J'ai menti sur le tourne-disque.”

Their faces are inches apart, and Harry thinks hard as he tries to translate what Louis had said. There’s only really one word that stands out to him, “What about the record player?”

“I lied about it,” Louis sighs again, playing with Harry’s hair and bandana. “I know ‘ow to work it, you’re a good teacher. I remember from the first time. I just wanted you over.”

“I’m glad to come over now,” Harry smiles at Louis’ adorableness. “I don’t have to be tricked anymore. You’re so cute though, Christ.”

Louis laughs, “I love you.”

The words make Harry stiffen, and he stares in shock at Louis for several stunned moments. Those words are some of Harry’s greatest fears. Falling in love scares the shit out of him, because he’s done it before, or he thought that he had, and it nearly broke him. It scares him, and he’s afraid to say it back, to admit it. If he admits that he’s in love with Louis than it would hurt so much more to lose him.

“I… I’m-”

“It’s okay,” Louis strokes Harry’s cheek. “You don’t 'ave to say it back yet. I didn’t mean to freak you out. I’ve always been bad at wearing my ‘eart on my sleeve.”

Harry cups Louis’ face and kisses him gratefully, settling back slowly in the arm chair. Louis twists himself so he can kiss Harry back, but then he huffs, “This would probably be easier… on the couch, oui?”

“Oh,” Harry murmurs, thinking that maybe Louis needs more space than Harry is giving him. Especially since Harry couldn’t even give Louis an ‘I love you’. “Yeah, sure.”

They move to the couch in the corner of the room, and Harry plops down on the middle cushion. Almost immediately he finds himself with a boy straddling his lap, a smug look on Louis’ gorgeous face. His small hands settle on Harry’s shoulders, and he kisses Harry’s nose before asking coyly, “Is this alright, ‘Arry?”

Harry nods his head and swallows hard, because Louis is rubbing gently at his neck and chest, and the blue eyed boy leans forward to nibble a bit on Harry’s lower lip. Automatically Harry’s hands settle on Louis’ bum, finding that one hand can splay across each cheek. Nothing is even happening but Harry finds himself breathless, “Yes…”

He tilts his head up just enough to catch Louis’ lips with his own, and Louis tangles his fingers into the curls at the nape of Harry’s neck. Harry slides his hands from Louis’ bum, wrapping one arm around Louis’ waist to crush him closer and the other hand cradles Louis’ head in place so it’s easier to kiss him firmer. In a moment of bravery Harry falls to his right, pulling Louis with him, and flops onto his back so that Louis is sprawled atop him. It makes Louis squeaks a bit, clinging onto Harry’s jumper before he laughs, “Tu m'as fait peur!”

“I don’t know what you said I did,” Harry pants. “But you’re gorgeous.”

He kisses the french boy again, much more fervently, groping a bit frantically at Louis’ bum. The thin fabric of the trousers doesn’t put much between Harry’s hands and Louis’ rear, and that combined with the way Louis’ tongue slowly starts sneaking into Harry’s mouth has Harry hardening in his jeans.

“Seigneur,” Louis pants. “Ever been french kissed by a french person?”

Harry shakes his head, removing a hand from Louis’ bum to try and get Louis’ lips back on his own. He’s sure that with Louis’ hands tangling in his hair like they are, that his bandana is completely coming off his head, but he’s far too turned on to care.

“No,” he says honestly.

Louis wiggles up Harry’s body more efficiently, brushing over Harry’s clothed erection, and both of them freeze. Harry’s face is already flushed from the heated kissing, but he reddens further as Louis’ eyebrows raise, “ ‘Arry…”

“I’m uh,” Harry stutters. “I didn’t mean-”

Louis softly kisses him quiet, shifting to press his own groin to Harry’s hip, and then Harry’s mind is spinning, because Louis is hard too.

“May I do something?” Louis bites his lip and looks at the boy under him innocently.

Harry thinks he’s going to pass out, “Something?”

Louis sits up quickly, cautiously reaching for the button on Harry’s pants. It hits Harry, what Louis is implying, and he groans loudly as he nods in permission. But Louis doesn’t unbutton his pants, instead he palms over the bulge in Harry’s jeans, enough times to have Harry’s mouth slipping open and his head limply flopping back against the armrest. The smaller boy flops himself down on Harry again, kissing him a bit sloppily as he begins to roll his hips against Harry’s. Harry scrambles for Louis’ arse, tugging down on it and pushing up with his hips to get the friction that’s barely there.

A sharp buck of Harry’s hips draws a gasp from Louis, and he mumbles against Harry’s jaw where he’s bringing blood to the surface of his pale skin, “Baise, ‘Arry…”

‘Arry,Harry shivers, because he loves hearing Louis say that so damn much. He presses his face against the side of Louis’ head since Louis’ face is already buried into his neck, and shoves his hips up a bit quicker. Everything feels perfect; the angle, the rhythm they’ve built, Louis… but it’s not enough Harry feels, and he wants more. He just doesn’t know how much more he wants.

Louis seems to feel the exact same way, because moments later he shoves himself back up, tucking Harry’s shirt halfway up his chest, and fumbling with Harry’s zipper and button. He tugs at Harry’s pants and trousers in determination, and Harry suddenly feels very exposed as his cock is freed to rest swollenly on his stomach.

“Louis," he says, low and breathless.

“Baise!” Louis says in frustration, and Harry assumes that Louis is cursing. “Donnez-moi une seconde.”

Louis scrambles off of Harry, racing from the room and down the hall. Harry is left with his pants around his thighs and his dick smearing pre-come on his tummy. Much to his relief, Louis comes hurrying back into the room with a tiny bottle of lube, and he shimmies out of his own pants before he straddles Harry again. Definitely not one to wait until marriage, Harry thinks, and then he panics a little because he doesn’t know what Louis’ planning. He has this desperate urge to take control, but he doesn’t want to force Louis into something, so his best bet is to let Louis have the reigns for the time being.

“Wait,” Harry mumbles, setting his hands on Louis' hips. Louis pours a fair amount of lube into his palm before tossing the bottle aside carelessly. “What are we doing, I…?”

The man straddling him stills, examining Harry closely, “This is alright, oui?”

“I’m alright if you’re alright,” Harry responds slowly. “I’m sorry, fuck, I’m making this awkward-”

Louis giggles, and Harry’s cock twitches in interest, “You are a gentleman, ‘Arry. Just making sure that I’m doing this for me, too, oui?”

“Oui,” Harry says thoughtfully.

Gently, Louis takes Harry in his small hand, the cold sensation gives Harry goosebumps. Harry tightens his grip and has to fight the urge to fuck up into Louis’ fist.

“Very big, ‘Arry," Louis says appreciatively.

All Harry can do his moan in response as Louis kneels forward to slide his own cock, pink and hard, alongside Harry’s. Louis' smaller than Harry by a great deal but that doesn't matter because Louis is obviously very comfortable with his body and Harry is so thankful for that. Louis' strong thighs are braced on both sides of Harry's long torso and this is something Harry never wants to forget.

“Christ, Louis," Harry wheezes and he watches as Louis strokes them off in unison.

He’s beautiful, hunched over on Harry’s lap, his fringe sweat sticky and hanging low over his eyes, his bottom lip bitten white between his teeth. He's thrusting into his hand, small and quick. Harry has to push himself up so he can kiss Louis, groaning helplessly into the smaller man’s mouth.

Louis’ hands are small, so small that Louis has to eventually take their cocks with both. It’s white hot pleasure, Louis’ soft hands and the hot texture of Louis’ dick against Harry’s. He can feel his toes starting to curl against the couch cushions and his hand tightening in Louis’ hair as Louis pushes him closer to the edge. Small little whimpers start slipping out from Louis’ lips, and his hand strokes grow sloppier. Harry wraps one hand around both of Louis' to help them both. Louis bucks his slender hips atop Harry’s lap, and then he’s coming with a sharp cry, “ ‘Arry!”

Harry watches with wide eyes as Louis comes over his slender fingers, mixing with the lube and smearing against Harry’s cock, making it easier to slide his hands over. It’s so incredibly hot, and Louis is so incredibly hot, that with a shudder and an uncontrollable thrust against Louis’ hands, Harry feels his balls tighten as he spills all over Louis’ fingers with a grunt.

He clings onto Louis, both of them breathing hard and trembling in their post-orgasmic states. Harry can’t resist pressing weak kisses to Louis’ lips, and he’s pleased when Louis kisses back. After several minutes or so, Louis pulls back to look down at his hands and their softening cocks, “One of us got some on my shirt…”

The curly haired lad laughs breathlessly, nodding his head, “Yeah… do you want me to get you a flannel? Where are they?”

“I’ll just wash my hands… I need some new clothes to wear anyway,” Louis murmurs.

Climbing off of Harry, he heads to his bathroom down the hall, and almost instantly Harry starts to freak out. He wondered if Louis was hoping he’d leave, or maybe Louis had wanted Harry to do more for him. Harry stands and pulls his pants up frantically with a lingering feeling of anxiety mixed with sadness. He’s prepared to stride for the door when Louis comes padding back into the living room. The younger lad is standing awkwardly by the couch, and he opens his mouth several times before he finally forces out, “Uh… should I go, or-”

“Non!” Louis says quickly, so quickly that he has to stop and respond in English this time. “No… stay a little longer."

There’s a cupboard on the coffee table, and Louis opens it and pulls out a blanket. Harry hesitantly sits back down on the couch, and he’s still a little sweaty, but Louis doesn’t seem to mind as he comes over and worms his way onto Harry’s lap. With shaky hands, Harry strokes at Louis’ sweaty hair, kissing his temple softly, “That was very good for me… are you alright?”

“It was good for me, too,” Louis hums, resting his head sleepily on Harry’s shoulder. “Next time maybe you can pull us off.”

“Next time?” Harry asks, and he’s completely unable to keep the delight from his voice.

Louis only laughs, “Oui.”

Harry nods, even though there's a lot of things Louis could be talking about, and sighs quietly.

They lay down together, Louis curled against Harry’s chest, and Harry feels so incredibly happy. Louis is gorgeous tucked up against him, and before Harry knows it the smaller boy is passed out in his arms. They’re covered with the velvety blanket Louis had grabbed them, and Harry tucks it around Louis’ back more efficiently. He doesn’t have the heart to wake him, nor is he himself determined enough to wiggle free and leave. Instead he snuggles Louis’ closer and lets his own eyes flutter closed. In the back of his mind he knows that he should get up and get his phone from his coat to tell Zayn that he’s spending the night at Louis, but he’s far too happy to truly care about anything else other than the boy in his arms, and he falls asleep with his lips pressed to the soft skin of Louis' forehead.

xx

Harry wakes up to Louis shifting around on his chest, mumbling something in French. Harry combs his fingers through Louis' hair, pushing it off his forehead as his eyes dart over the soft fringe. He looks at each strand, the way the sunlight coming from the small window shines all over them. His hair changes color each time Harry shifts. He looks at Louis' face, all the little bumps and freckles. Harry stares and wonders how many angels were sacrificed so Louis could be this beautiful. He doesn't understand how he's here with this beautiful man on his chest, how he actually feels okay. Harry isn't sad this time, he feels good about this, about Louis and Harry. He's here and he's content. He likes the sound of Louis and him.

Harry and Louis.

Louis and Harry.

He sighs to himself as he involuntarily pets Louis' hair. This is where he'd get up, go into the kitchen and eat his cereal in lonely silence, but he's at Louis' this time and he doesn't know if he should do something for Louis. He thinks about picking up the smaller boy and taking him back to his comfortable bed and slipping out of the flat but not without leaving some sort of note explaining his absence, or he could wiggle out of his grip and make a breakfast for the two of them. He really doesn't want to leave, but he feels he's going to have a problem getting out from under Louis.

He grabs Louis' hips gently, slowly trying to creep out from under the smaller boy. Louis furrows his eyebrows and clings on to Harry's shirt, Harry then sighs and runs his hand up Louis' body, grabbing his tiny fist to gently pull it off of his shirt. He lets out a breath of relief as Louis goes a bit limp, making it easier for him to move. Harry stands and stretches, he fixes the blanket on Louis before he goes into the kitchen and to the refrigerator.

He opens the door and is surprised to see the shelves full of fruits, vegetables, cheeses, and water in organized sections. Harry feels a little intimidated by the food, it's like an army of health and Harry isn't one for healthy foods. He closes the door, and walks over to his jacket quietly, careful not to wake up Louis. He pulls out his phone to see numerous messages from Zayn from last night and some from a few minutes ago. He sighs and decides to ignore all of them and not text back because calling his best mate would be easier.

He sighs as he waits only two seconds before it sounds like Zayn is stumbling around with the phone.

"Harry, what the fuck is wrong with you? I was shitting my pants last night waiting for you to get your skinny ass back here or at least for a text! Where the f-"

"I'm at Louis'." Harry rolls his eyes. He hears Zayn sigh.

"How was it?" Zayn asks.

"He made me dinner," Harry says nonchalantly.

"Something you're not telling me?" Now he sounds determined because he knows Harry's not telling him everything.

"Do you know how to make crepes?" He wanders back into the kitchen, looking through the cabinets for the necessary ingredients.

"Harry," Zayn says lowly. "What happened?"

"We worked on his record player." Harry grabs a big bowl as he starts mixing the ingredients together. His phone is pressed against his ear while he tries to remember the process of making the food.

Zayn sighs loudly, "Fine, Harry, you can be that way. I don't care-"

Harry smiles, pouring the batter on to the pan that sits on low heat. It sizzles quietly as it spreads across the metal and Harry vaguely wonders if the batter is alright with being their first meal of the day.

"I love you, Zaynie baby," He says teasingly.

He can practically see Zayn rolling his eyes, like he always does, but he hears a small 'I love you, too'. Zayn and Harry keep the conversation going as Harry makes three more crepes with the rest of the mix before he goes back into the refrigerator to get out strawberry jelly. He prepares them the best he can on one of Louis' plates.

"I will see you later because, if you remember, you have a job," Zayn says and then there's more shuffling on the other line.

Harry rolls his eyes this time, "Yes, Zayn, I remember. Goodbye."

Harry hangs up and sets his phone down on the table, he washes the dishes and puts them back where he got them. He picks up a small towel and dries his hands just as he feels arms wrap around his waist. He has no reason to be startled or scared because it's only Louis and Harry in the flat. He hears Louis hum quietly as he presses his chest to Harry's back.

Louis feels Harry's muscles tense a bit under his touch and he doesn't know if he should be concerned or happy. He spins Harry around to face him, sliding his hands up Harry's shirt. A sweet aroma fills the air and he furrows his eyebrows, " 'Arry, you made crepes?"

Harry nods proudly, "Yes I did."

Louis bites the inside of cheek, and he smiles fondly, "Oh, mon garçon. Crepes are for dessert, not for breakfast."

Harry frowns, "I'm sorry."

Louis rubs his hands along Harry's torso and shakes his head, he leans up to press his lips to Harry's, slow and loving. They stay like that for a while, just sharing little kisses before Harry pulls back, nodding slowly and breathing against Louis' mouth, "Alright."

Louis pulls him over to the table and sits him down while he walks back over to the refrigerator and gets out two waters. He walks back over to his waiting boyfriend and takes a seat on his lap, slinging his arm around Harry's neck as he picks up a crepe and puts it to Harry's mouth.

"Ouvert," he commands and Harry opens his mouth before Louis stuffs the dessert between his lips. Harry nods slightly, his hand resting low on Louis' hip.

He licks his lips, "It's pretty good."

Louis smiles and Harry reaches over for one, putting the pastry against Louis' lips. Harry looks at Louis' slightly parted month for a bit longer, then his eyes snap up to meet Louis', "Open."

Louis lets out a quiet noise, almost like a whimper, but he opens his mouth more so he can take a bite. Harry watches intently and Louis hums, "These are really good, 'Arry."

Harry blushes only a little and he says a small 'thank you' before his phone vibrates on the table. He reaches for it and opens the text from Zayn, Louis leans over a bit so he can read the message over Harry's arm.

"You 'ave to go," Louis repeats the text sadly.

Harry nods, "Yeah, I'm sorry."

"When do you think you will you be back?" Louis asks as he picks at a loose string on Harry's shirt.

"I'll be back right after work for another lesson. How does that sound?" Harry rubs at Louis' lower back and kisses the soft skin of Louis' cheek. Louis' face heats up, and he nods with a smile on his face.

Harry gets up slowly and Louis takes his place on the chair and he watches as Harry gets ready to leave his flat to go back to his own. He feels oddly sad even though he knows Harry will be back in only a few hours but he feels like something he's had forever is getting taken away from him. Harry made him dessert for breakfast and he's just such an adorable, caring person and Louis is always afraid that this could be the last time he sees Harry. He reads his horoscope almost every day and it seems to be right, he believes in luck, and he has his own superstitions. He's always been a big believer in fate. Everything happened for a reason. He thinks that some power from somewhere made the record shop catch his attention, and Harry just happened to be the first person he saw when he walked in. He's glad Harry doesn't know much French or else they wouldn't be able to have lessons, they wouldn't have fallen in love. Well, at least Louis thinks it's love. And Louis thinks that Harry may love him back because he can't just look at Louis the way he does and not be in love with him.

Louis stops thinking about everything when Harry's lips are on his forehead, kissing him goodbye. He sits at the empty table while he watches Harry open the door and leave. He wants to do something productive but he also wants to do nothing and lay around. Sighing, Louis goes into his bedroom, getting out fresh clothes for after his shower.

He travels into the bathroom, setting his stuff down, and undresses himself. He can't help but think about Harry when he turns on the shower. It's not that the shower running symbolizes Harry in any way, he just can't stop thinking that there's a possibility that Harry loves him. He steps in and now likes the idea of Harry being the water, feeling it cascade over him. The thought of Harry covering him like the water is calming. He loves Harry, that's easy to say, but he doesn't understand Harry. They've been dating for about a month and it's so easy for Louis to love someone and maybe that's his problem. But this love, this love feels different. Louis loves everything about Harry and he thinks it would be hard not to love everything because Harry has everything he needs. But he wants a lot of things. He wants Harry to love him, he wants Harry to be there for him, yet Louis knows that it's probably selfish of him to want all of those things. He wants Harry to love him so he can make Harry happy. Louis knows Harry isn't as happy as he is and that thought hurts Louis, because someone as great as Harry, as special as Harry, deserves to be happy.

×

The moment Harry slips into the already open shop, simply eager to shower and change into fresh clothes, Zayn is upon him.

“Tell me how it went right now, Harry Styles,” Zayn commands, clinging onto Harry’s arm and dragging him behind the desk.

Harry frowns disapprovingly. He almost wants to keep it a secret, keep it as just a Harry and Louis thing. Like if he tells Zayn then their whole night together will be completely erased, like it wouldn’t ever have happened in the first place. But Zayn always knows when Harry is hiding something, so the curly haired lad is forced to sit on his stool and tell at least a little about the wonderful night he had with the blue eyed boy.

“He made me dinner…” Harry says slowly. “We listened to music. He didn’t actually need help with his record player, he just wanted me over, and that’s actually so cute like…”

“Enough with the gushy stuff,” Zayn waves his hand about impatiently. “Is he a good fuck?”

“Zayn,” Harry frowns. “We didn’t do that.”

“Well you did something,” Zayn insists, crossing his arms. “I can sense it. Just kissing wouldn’t have made you stay the night without even giving me a heads up. I thought you got mugged or something, you asshole. The least you can do is tell me.”

Harry’s blushing furiously when he finally tells Zayn, “Well we like… we rubbed off together.”

Zayn snickers, but he pats Harry on the shoulder, “Now was that so hard? Now go change and shower or you’ll scare away customers.”

After Harry is showered and clean, he checks his phone for any possible texts from Louis as he stands in his room, naked and dripping onto his floor.

You should spend the night again. If you do we can watch a movie after lessons, oui?

Oui. I’d love to stay. Maybe you can make me an actual French breakfast? Or I can make us a dessert again.

Harry is smiling so largely it hurts his face, and he dresses quickly so he can go inform Zayn that he is once again going to be out all night. He styles his hair like the day before, tamed with a bandana, brushes his teeth, and then heads back towards the store. Dee decides she wants to go downstairs with him, and she darts past him and races down the steps. Zayn is helping a customer, so Harry sits behind the front desk and daydreams about how much he’s going to get to kiss and touch Louis while they watch whatever movie Louis picks. He hopes Louis snuggles up to him like the older boy did in the armchair the night before.

When Zayn comes back over, to let an older woman and her son pay for a record, he examines Harry curiously. He thanks them for coming, and then he turns to the younger boy perched on the stool, “You’re suddenly a happy camper, Harold.”

“I’m staying the night at Louis’ again,” Harry announces. “Just a heads up.”

For a moment Harry thinks Zayn is going to object, but the dark haired lad shrugs, “Okay. Make good use of it.”

Harry simply rolls his eyes and stands from his stool to make sure all the records are in order. When they close the shop, Harry carries Dee up the steps tucked under one arm and rushes to pack himself a small little bag. He grabs pajamas and another pair of clothes for the next day, his toothbrush and toothpaste, and condoms and lube just for precautionary measures. He and Louis had been texting all day and debating on what movie to watch, but they still had yet to decide.

Zayn is feeding Dee as Harry grabs his coat, and he gives him a small wave as Harry opens the door to leave. Harry frowns at that, “What, no goodbye lecture?”

“I figure Louis can look out for you,” Zayn chuckles. “Look before crossing the street, use protection… I’d say don’t talk to strangers, but I know that won’t be an issue.”

Harry flips him off, but then he purses his lips as he steps a little further out the door with his backpack dangling from one arm, “Anything else…?”

“Not that I know of?” Zayn says, confused.

“No ‘I love you’?” Harry presses.

Zayn rolls his eyes at that, “You man child. I love you, Harry.”

Harry flashes Zayn a large smile, “Love you, too, Zaynie poo.”

Harry’s content as he slams the door shut behind him and bounds down the steps. He heads to Louis’ shop, because he knows the older boy still has at least thirty minutes before he closes. There aren’t as many leaves on the trees anymore, and the air is certainly inching more towards winter weather, so Harry pulls his coat around himself more efficiently as he walks. When he reaches Louis’ flat, Louis is only just locking the front door. Harry wraps the smaller boy up in his arms from behind, making Louis give a startled squeak.

But Harry is already at the point where he misses Louis the moment Louis is gone, and all he can think about is the last time they kissed or hugged or simply touched. Louis melts into Harry’s embrace when he realizes who it is, and Harry kisses the shell of Louis’ ear and whispers to him, “Tu m'as manqué, petit ami.”

Louis giggles, craning his head back to kiss Harry’s jaw, “Tu m'as manqué aussi.”

Harry lets Louis go so they can join hands and head to Louis’ flat. Louis rambles on about all the movies he owns, and Harry listens on in adoration because he could listen to Louis talk forever. Despite Louis having to unlock the doors, Harry opens them for the older boy. Up in Louis’ flat, Louis leads Harry to his bedroom so Harry can put his bag away, and then Louis practically frolics back down the hall and into the living room to flop in his armchair.

The curly haired boy stands in the hall and admires Louis’ wide smile and his adorable hands that wrap around his knees, “What’s cute in French?”

“Mignon,” Louis responds, nodding at the other armchair for Harry to join him.

Harry goes and sits in the chair, “Tu es mignon.”

Louis blushes, but he pulls his phone from his pocket and unlocks it, “ ‘Arry, what do you want to eat? It’s a lesson day so we ‘ave to order out, oui? It’s tradition.”

“Something warm,” Harry replies thoughtfully. “I’m cold.”

He’s hoping that it will coax Louis into coming and cuddling him, and he gets his wish, but only because Louis comes and plops himself down on Harry’s lap so that they can both see his phone. “We can look together. I ‘ave an app that shows nearby places that deliver.”

Their heads rest together as they look at Louis’ phone, and Harry can’t help but focus more on Louis. Pressed so close he can see the pretty length of Louis’ eyelashes and watch as Louis’ cute little button nose scrunches in thought. They eventually decide on Chinese food since it’s something that they can both easily agree on and something they can’t seem to get tired of. Louis stays on Harry’s lap though, draping himself across it as if he were laying sideways in his own armchair. Harry plays with Louis’ hair, carding his fingers through the soft strands as he watches Louis order their food.

“Do you think you can give me lessons from right here?” Harry asks.

“Yes,” Louis grins. “But I don’t think I can eat General Tso’s right here.”

“I’ll feed you,” Harry insists.

So when the food is finally delivered, Louis has to get up to buzz the delivery guy in, but Harry gets up too so he can gently stop Louis from retrieving money from his pocket and pays for the food instead. Louis arches an eyebrow at him, but Harry simply kisses him and leads him back over to the armchair. Harry sits in the armchair and lets Louis lay across his lap again, feeding him his food just like he said he would. They go through Harry’s French lesson like that, with Louis both refreshing Harry’s memory and introducing new words. Eventually Louis sits up to put their food containers on the coffee table, and then he curls himself up against Harry’s chest and kisses Harry’s cheek.

“I think I’m ready for a movie, what about you?”

“Un film,” Harry grins.

“That’s super easy,” Louis rolls his eyes, but he smiles at Harry and strokes his cheek. “But still good nonetheless.”

Harry makes a momentary pouting face, but then runs a hand down Louis’ back, “So, sweets… what are we watching?”

“I don’t know,” Louis wiggles from Harry’s lap and walks over to a shelf near his couch. “You ‘aven’t picked yet!”

“Why do I have to pick,” Harry stands to join Louis, going and wrapping an arm around the boy’s waist in attempts to tug him in for another kiss. Louis is addicting, soft and sweet, and Harry wants to kiss him all the time. It seems like every time Harry instigates a kiss, color rises into Louis’ cheeks, and Harry wants to kiss that too. He wants to kiss all of Louis, and so ever so boldly he kisses away from Louis’ mouth, a trail across Louis’ cheek, down his jaw, and to his neck where he nibbles on Louis’ baby soft skin. It makes Louis give a whimper of sorts, and Harry’s hands slide from Louis’ back down to grab at Louis’ ass as he sucks a mark just above Louis’ collarbones.

Louis’ eyes are wide as he tugs Harry back up to kiss him, his face flushed. The two stumble backwards a bit and knock into the shelf of Louis’ movies, so Harry has to carefully try and tug Louis away from the shelf so he won’t accidentally give his boyfriend a concussion. The smaller lad seems to catch the hint. Louis jumps and wraps his legs around Harry's waist, brushing his hips against Harry's, eliciting a moan from the younger boy. He tilts his head to the side, slipping his tongue past Harry's full lips, deepening the kiss. Harry's hands have a tight grip on Louis' thighs as he pushes him against the wall by the shelf and brings their hips together in a slow grind.

Harry already loves where things are going, although he had pictured Louis would be the one to instigate it while they were watching a movie. But it’s perfectly fine with Harry, because Louis is solid and warm in his grip, the press of his hardening groin against Harry is tantalizing, and there is suddenly far too many clothes on the both of them for Harry’s liking.

“You don’t ‘ave to pick a movie anymore,” Louis mumbles against Harry’s lips. “We can just-ngh.”

Louis chokes off with a groan as Harry shifts the hand he has supporting Louis’ bum so he can shove up against the boy. He wants to make Louis come apart, he wants to make Louis feel as good as Louis had made him feel the night before, but overall he just wants to make Louis feel loved since he can’t bring himself to tell him aloud.

“Can I take you to your bed?” Harry breathes, nosing at Louis’ neck.

“If you come too,” Louis pants.

Harry tries to gather Louis better in his grip, it would be just his luck if he dropped the smaller boy or tripped with him. As he carries Louis down the hall, he does accidentally knock Louis’ knee against the bedroom door frame, but Louis only giggles and kisses Harry a bit more fervently. Ever so gently, Harry deposits Louis on the queen sized, four wooden post bed. He settles the lad up against his pillows, and Louis pushes the hair away off his forehead in a breathless fashion. Harry’s hands shake as they go for the button on Louis’ pants, and his eyes quickly flit up to Louis’ face, “Is this…”

“You don’t ‘ave to ask,” Louis assures, and he lifts his hips a little so that Harry can tug the tight pants from his legs. Harry wants to take a few moments, days, maybe years to worship the boy’s thighs, because they’re so perfect that Harry can’t resist leaning down to press a few kisses to them. Paler marks are visible on the skin, skin stretched from the muscle growing there, and Harry can see that they make their way up towards Louis’ softer hips. If Harry’s honest, it makes Louis far more beautiful. It makes Louis Louis. Louis seems to disagree, however, his hands sliding down shyly as he sits up in attempts to take his boxers off too. “Don’t focus too much there… it’s ugly.”

Harry’s brow furrows, “What is?”

“I ‘ave stretch marks…” Louis mumbles.

It makes Harry’s heart ache, that Louis could think that any part of himself was ugly. Louis is nothing short of gorgeous. He’s beauty, he’s happiness, he’s the sun. The younger boy crawls up Louis then, cradling his cheek in one hand and shaking his head, “Oh no… they’re perfect. You’re perfect.”

He brushes his lips against Louis’ thinner ones before he allows himself to be lost further in the blue that is Louis’ eyes, and he tugs Louis’ shirt from his body before Louis helps him tug off his own. And then they’re both kneeling in their briefs, and Harry is kissing Louis with persistence until Louis pulls back a little, “My lube is still on the floor in the living room…”

“I brought my own,” Harry tells him, but then he blushes a little. “Not that I was expecting this or anything but-”

Louis simply giggles, reaching out to rub at Harry’s hard cock through the thin fabric of Harry’s briefs, “Silly boy.”

Harry makes a noise in his throat before he pulls himself away from Louis to hurry over to his backpack. He has to dig all the way to the bottom to find the lube and condom, but when he does he immediately rushes back to Louis and places them next to the boy as he stands in front of the bed.

“Which one of us is going to…” He trails off, hoping Louis will understand.

Louis stares at him in confusion for a few moments before he giggles, “Oh. I prefer to, ‘ow you all would say, bottom?”

It draws a nervous laugh from Harry, and he shakes his head at himself, “I just wanted to make sure. I don’t want to push you into something you don’t want or-”

“Don’t worry about that,” Louis coos, scooting forward on the bed and slipping his thumbs beneath Harry’s waistband. “Just do what you’re feeling. If I don’t like it I can tell you to stop, oui? But something tells me I’m going to like anything you do.”

Harry’s dick throbs at that, and Louis completely pulls down Harry’s briefs. All Harry can do is watch with his mouth slightly agape as Louis takes Harry’s cock into his small hands and strokes it softly, gazing up at Harry the whole time. But then Louis is lowering his head and gently taking Harry’s cock into his mouth. His tongue is sinful with the way it licks under the slight curve of the head, and if Harry thought that Louis’ mouth looked prettiest speaking French it was because he’d never seen it wrapped around his cock.

He moans out quietly, his hands fleeting up to Louis’ hair. He doesn’t grab at it like he wants to, doesn’t buck his hips like his body is telling him to, but strokes softly at Louis’ hair as the boy hums, sending jolts of pleasure coursing through the younger lad.

“Christ, Louis, you’re beautiful,” Harry groans. “You’re so beautiful.”

Louis only tilts his head up to meet Harry’s gaze as he lowers his mouth further on Harry’s cock, his small hands twisting at what his mouth doesn’t reach. He has hair falling into his eyes, and Harry strokes it away so he can see the blue irises peering up at him through thick, dark lashes. If Louis ever lets him, Harry thinks he’ll certainly have to have his way with Louis’ mouth at some point in time, but Harry had planned on making Louis feel good too, so he figures it would be best if they moved on before Harry was pushed over the edge. He gently pulls Louis off, leaning down so he can kiss the boy.

“Alright ‘Arry?” Louis asks shyly, and Harry nods with a groan.

“That was more than alright. I probably would’ve came after another minute of that,” Harry explains embarrassingly, and he almost asks Louis if he can take the boy’s briefs off before he remembers what Louis told him.

He gently grabs Louis under his arms, moving him once more until he’s back up vertically on the bed, leaning against the pillows. Louis seems to go pliant at Harry’s sudden dominance, simply gazing with pupils blown as Harry peels the briefs from Louis’ body and tosses them onto the floor with the rest of their clothing. Harry had only been with one guy before, and whereas they’d done almost everything, giving a blowjob was surprisingly Harry’s least favorite thing. But Louis is hard and inviting in front of him, his cock settled hard and pink on Louis’ tummy, and Harry finds himself leaning down and using his hand to guide Louis’ cock between his full lips.

He doesn’t regret it, because Louis responds almost instantly. The boy’s breath hitches, and his hands fly to tangle into Harry’s curls. Harry finds a new pleasure in this that he’s never had before, with Louis heavy and throbbing against his tongue, and his jaw stretched and plump lips curled to prevent his teeth from grazing the sensitive skin.

“ ‘Arry,” Louis whines. “ ‘Arry, please…”

His pleas go straight to Harry’s dick, and Harry moans around Louis’ girth. His neck and jaw ache a bit from hunching over between Louis’ legs, from bobbing his head, but he doesn’t want to stop. It’s only when Louis tugs on his hair that he pulls off, gazing up at Louis’ face. The blue eyed boy’s fringe is beginning to stick to his sweaty skin, and his cheeks are flushed in the prettiest way. Harry’s heart is pounding so hard against his ribcage that he fears a heart attack is approaching for a few moments, because Louis is so, so lovely.

“Hand me the lube and a pillow or two, will you?” Harry requests lowly, and Louis is scrambling for the items in an instant. The younger boy could cry at how needy Louis is as he lounges himself back against the pillows and spreads his legs wide. Harry leans and sucks a bruise on the dip of Louis’ hipbone, just for the sole purpose of being able to press his thumb against it when it’s sensitive. Louis arches into Harry’s mouth, mumbling out pleas and Harry’s name. Harry thinks some of what Louis says is in French, and all just because Louis is already so overwhelmed. “Hips up so I can put these under you.”

Louis complies, lifting his hips so Harry can slip two thin pillows under him. When he settles back onto the mattress, Harry guides Louis’ legs to where he wants them, pushing them up and outwards so that they’re spread but bent at the knee, the bottoms of Louis’ feet flat against the bed. Louis’ eyelids are heavy, his breathing uneven as he whispers, “Do you need the condom now?”

“Gonna finger you open,” Harry replies softly, rubbing at Louis’ inner thighs. “Make sure you’re ready, yeah?”

“Oui,” Louis whines.

“Good,” the curly haired boy smiles, grabbing the lube by Louis’ ankle and flicking the cap open. He drizzles a bit onto his fingers, making sure they’re well slicked before he turns his hand palm up and softly rubs at the puckered skin of Louis’ hole with his fingers.

Louis jolts under his touch, and Harry hopes it’s from pleasure and not because his hands are cold. But as he sinks his middle finger in to the second knuckle, a whimper escapes Louis’ lips, and his blue eyes flutter closed. He presses his finger up, rubbing at the soft walls of Louis in search for the spot that would bring Louis total bliss. It’s obvious that he’s found the spot when Louis gasps, his hips canting down onto Harry’s hand.

“Plus doigts,” Louis begs, feeling down and curling his hand around Harry’s wrist. His eyes are pleading, and Harry rubs soothing circles against Louis’ thigh with his free hand.

“English, babe,” Harry reminds. Louis seems flustered for several moments, almost as if he’s forgotten how to speak anything other than French, but after several moments of Harry’s finger avoiding his prostate he finds his voice.

“More fingers.”

Harry can't deny the beautiful boy, so he slips in his index finger alongside his middle one, speeding up the prodding movements of the digits. He’s relentless, switching from rubbing at Louis’ sensitive walls to nudging right up against Louis’ prostate. It has Louis writhing, his head thrown back and his small hands fisting at the sheets. His feet are no longer flat on the bed, but he’s spread his legs wider to allow Harry better access, and Harry has never felt so aroused in his life.

He adds a third finger, because he knows for a fact that he’s not the smallest guy, and he wants to make sure Louis is good and ready. Louis decides for him, however, pushing himself up so he can seize Harry’s face in his hands and smash their mouths together for a sloppy kiss, “Baise-moi, baise-moi.”

And Harry understands enough French to know what that means. He eases his fingers out of Louis, guiding the flustered boy back down onto the pillows. He’s surprised to see that Louis’ eyelashes are a bit damp, and he strokes at Louis’ burning cheeks and forehead, “I’ll make you feel so good. You’re so lovely, Louis. Are you alright, are you comfortable?”

“Oui,” Louis whines, and Harry uses it as his cue to sit back up and settle between Louis’ sprawled open legs. His hips are still balanced on the pillows, so Harry is able to tear open the package of the condom and roll it onto his cock without worrying himself further about Louis’ comfort. He probably uses a bit too much lube, because a lot of it gets onto Louis’ soft white duvet, but he wants Louis to feel nothing but pleasure.

Harry makes sure his cock is lined up properly with Louis’ hole before he allows himself to look up at Louis, and their eyes meet. Louis gasps out a quick breath of air, and Harry can see his throat move as he swallows hard. Harry doesn’t break his gaze as he starts to push in, taking in all of Louis’ face, watching his brows furrow in pleasure and his mouth fall open as all the air seems to be pressed from Louis’ chest. It’s when Harry bottoms out that Louis sucks in a deep breath, his hands fumbling for something, anything to grab onto. They settle for Harry’s biceps as Harry drapes himself forward to support himself over Louis, reveling at the tight heat engulfing his cock. When he speaks, his voice is shaky, “Okay?”

Louis can only nod, as if the feeling of Harry pressed into him took his voice away. The smaller lad doesn’t seem to be breathing, and it worries Harry enough that he starts to pull his hips back a few inches. But life is restored to Louis at the drag of Harry’s cock, and his hands tighten around Harry’s arms, “ ‘Arry.”

The fingers on one of Louis’ hands pry themselves free from Louis’ arm, shakily trailing their way to grab pleadingly at Harry’s hip. Harry presses slow, almost torturingly slow, back in, and Louis’ legs move to wrap around Harry’s waist. He knows from experience that there’s always that small little hint of pain at first, when someone first presses in and practically strips away any sort of walls that are built up, leaving you bare and defenseless. But Louis never seemed to have any walls, especially not with Harry, and he’s even more open now if that were possible. His hips roll down, and small little keens leave his mouth as his body pleads with Harry to move.

Harry does move, slowly but surely, because he wants Louis to feel this. Feel every drag, every slide of sweat slicked skin. Harry leans forward, resting on his forearm, their faces are so close together, their lips are just hovering over each other. Louis’ legs tighten around his waist, and his arms wrap around Harry’s back so that nearly every inch of them is touching. Pressed together so intimately Harry feels so good, so incredibly blissed out, and it’s all because of Louis. And christ, Harry just loves him so much.

Harry presses his lips to Louis' sweaty neck, groaning. His hips snap up and he can feel the vibration of Louis’ throat as Louis whines high and pretty right next to his ear. Louis' cock is trapped between their stomachs and he feels it every time Harry moves his hips. His blunt nails dig into Harry's back as he comes first with a strangled whimper, his back arching high off the bed and pressing their chests together. He spurts onto both of them, and Harry follows suit.

Louis is all he can feel everywhere as he presses deep inside and shudders bodily, spilling into the condom. For several minutes after the two can’t do much but cling to one another, sweaty and sticky from Louis’ come. But eventually Harry pulls his softening cock from Louis’ body and ties off the condom, laying it awkwardly on Louis' comforter because he has no idea where Louis keeps his trashcan. He slumps back onto the bed beside Louis, curling his arm around the boy, who is still trembling from post-orgasmic bliss, and kisses his nose.

Even as a sweaty, sticky mess Louis is beautiful, his fringe sticking together in clumps from the dampness, and his face down to his chest is a blotchy red. Harry can’t help but hold him a little tighter, kiss him a little softer, “You’re so beautiful.”

Louis’ voice is raspy from his previous vocalizing, and Harry thinks it’s the best thing, “You keep saying I’m beautiful, but ‘ave you seen yourself?”

Harry feels his hair is starting to cover his forehead, and he probably looks oily and gross from his sweat, but Louis strokes his cheek and looks at him like he’s wonderful, and to Harry’s surprise he feels wonderful. Louis makes him feel like he’s wonderful. He kisses Louis again, knowing that they should get up and shower off, but he feels reluctant to move from where they’ve snuggled close on top of Louis’ sweaty duvet.

Louis throws a leg over Harry’s hip, which in the long run will make it even harder for them to get up to shower. They’re pressed skin to skin again, and it’s almost as intimate as what they were doing before. Forehead to forehead, nose to nose, Harry closes his eyes and nuzzles against Louis.

“I love you, ‘Arry,” Louis voice is soft, but it’s loud and clear in Harry’s mind. His eyes flash open, locking with Louis’ that are only inches from his face. And Harry can see it, the amount of love and adoration and hope that Louis has there. It’s all clear to him, he’s completely unable to deny it, so without another moment of hesitancy he strokes Louis’ cheek and replies.

“I love you, Louis.”

 


End file.
